
Class., 

ii()()k__«B5_S-n- 



TAGHCONIC; 



-^ac 



/^^ 



betters anb CeijcniJs about our Bumimr ^ome. 



BY GODFREY GREYLOCK. 



"Thou Shalt look 
Upon the green and rolling forest tops, 
And down into the secrets of the glens, 
And streams, that with their bordering thickets strive 
To hide their windings. Thou shalt gaze at once 
Here on white villages and tilth and herds, 
And swarming roads, and there on solitudes 
That only hear the torrent, and the wind, 
And eagles shriek." 

Bktant, 



BOSTON: 

REDDING AND COMPANY, 8 STATE STREET. 

1852. 



F- 



^7- 



•355^ 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, 

BY J. E. A. SMITH, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



fif 



boston: 

^targ anb JElirfjar'Dsoii, printers, 
No. II Milk Street. 



EPISTLE DEDICATORY 
GTo Summer Uambkrs on tl)e I^erksljire ipills. 



Friends: — 

From Vermont upon the north to Connecticut 
upon the south, for fifty miles along the eastern borders 
of New York, extends Berkshire, the most western 
county of Massachusetts. It is a region of hills and 
valleys, of lake and stream, of woodland, farm and 
field. Its beauty is world renowned ; for the pens of 
Bryant and Miss Sedgwick have made it their favorite 
theme. Within its limits are Monument Mountain, 
Icy Glen, the Stockbridge Bowl, Green River, with a 
thousand other scenes of storied or of unsung loveliness. 
In the north rise majestically, six thousand feet into 
the air, the double peaks of Greylock. Along our 
western borders lie the dome like summit of the Ta^h- 
conic range. Less graceful in outline, but even more 
romantic with broken and precipitous ascents, the IIoo- 
sacs shut out the world upon the east. Within thig 
mountain walled amphitheatre lies cradled the upland 
valley of the Housatonic, with all its fertile farms, its 
mansion homes, and frequent villages. Somebody has 
called it the Piedmont of America. I do not know 



IV EPISTLE DEDICATORY. 

how just the appellation may be, but I do know that if 
Piedmont can rightly be called the Berkshire of Eu- 
rope, it must be a very delightful region. 

What we most admire in Berkshire scenery is its 
freshness, boldness, and variety. Our hills boast no 
astounding grandeur ; there is nothing about them of 
an Alpine character; they possess few scenes which 
can properly rank with the sublime. The highest 
mountain tops, the most precipitous cliffs, — sufficient 
to claim our admiration, wild enough to be the marvel 
of tourists from the tame coast country, — cannot, for a 
moment, compare with similar scenes among the White 
Mountains, or the Alleghanies — not to mention more 
unapproachable wonders of Nature. Our deepest ra- 
vines, often penetrated by smooth, flower bordered 
roads, are very different things, indeed, from the earth- 
quake rifted chasms of other lands. 

If the traveller seek some object for a day's or a 
week's wonder, some tremendous cataract or " Heaven 
piercing Cordillera," he must seek it elsewhere. But 
if he asks for a retreat among wild and picturesque 
scenery, adorned by much that is pleasant and refined 
in his city life, but far removed from its heat and tur- 
moil ; where he can draw closer the silken cord of social 
intercourse, and yet throw loose some of its galling 
chains; where nature ennobles by her greatness but 
never chills with a frown, he may find it all amid the 
varied beauty of the Berkshire Plills. 

The inexhaustible variety of our vistas is wonderful. 
It is marvellous in what an endless series of combina- 
tions, mountain, valley, lake, stream, rock, field and 
wood, present themselves. Wlierever you go, you 



EPISTLE DEDICATORY. 



meet a constant succession of changes which at once 
charm the eye and delight the heart. At every turn 

" You stand suddenly astonished, 
You are gladdened unaware." 

Through the long Summer months you may seek, 
and not in vain, some new object, daily, of interest and 
pleasure. But that you will not do ; a few spots will 
become so dear that, while you revisit them again and 
again, others of perhaps greater merit will remain neg- 
lected. 

So profusely has Nature scattered her treasures in 
this fair land, that it is thought by most, superfluous to 
search out her more choice and hidden gems. Many 
of the most unique and beautiful of these remained con- 
cealed from those who have passed their lives within a 
rifle shot of them. The traditions which were once at- 
tached to almost all these scenes are also rapidly fading 
away, with the fading years of grey haired men. 
"There was a story," I have been often told, "Old 
Deacon Whitehead used to tell, but he is dead and I 
have forgotten the details." 

To make known some of these hidden retreats of 
beauty, to revive and preserve a few of these half for- 
gotten traditions, was the design with which these brief 
pages were commenced. It has been a work of greater 
difficulty than was anticipated, to procure the necessary 
information, although now, when it is too late to be of 
service, much new material is offered. It will not be 
improper, perhaps, to say here, that during our progress, 
circumstances have occurred which rendered necessary 
a slight change in the character originally intended, 



VI EPISTLE DEDICATORY. 

and the omission of a great deal of matter, of merely 
local interest, which was already written. 

And now to you, whom I have presumed to call my 
friends, and for whom this little volume was more espe- 
pecially designed, I commend, for your kindness, what 
is done. Every page was written with a sympathy for 
your admiration of this pleasant county, which expanded 
as it warmed, into personal friendship for yourselves. 
If I shall point any of you to scenes of Nature's glad- 
ness, to which you would otherwise have been stran- 
gers ; if I shall contribute one moment of happiness to 
your Summer hours ; if I shall hereafter recall more 
vividly to your mind these rural scenes, when they 
shall be a little faded, I shall be amply repaid ; how 
much more, if I shall add one pleasant thought to min- 
gle with your own, as you gaze upon the grand, the 
noble, or the beautiful, in our dear mountain valley. 

Godfrey Greylook. 
Pittsjleld, September, 1852. 



CONTENTS. 



OUR TOWN. — ITS OLD ELM. — ITS ENVIRONS. — ITS PEO- 
PLE. — ITS PAST AND PRESENT, ... - 9 
WASHINGTON MOUNTAIN. — UNDINE's GLEN. — AND LAKE 

ASHLEY, 18 

ROARING BROOK. — TORIES' GLEN. — AND SOMETHING 

ABOUT THE TORIES, ------ 28 

PONTOOSUC LAKE AND ROLLING ROCK, . - - 38 

LEBANON SPRINGS. — A DASH AT LIFE THERE, - - 45 

BERRY POND, 60 

THE wizard's glen, .------68 

OUR RURAL CEMETERY, - 76 

AN HOUR IN OUR CEJIETERY — BEING BRIEF RECORDS 

OP CONVERSATION, 82 

LENOX AND ITS SCENERY, 88 

LENOX AS A JUNGLE FOR LITERARY LIONS, - - 97 

LAKE ONOTA AND ITS WHITE DEER, - - - - 109 

VISIT TO A SHAKER MEETING, 118 

NOTES ON SHAKERDOM, 13.5 

THAT EXCURSION TO GREYLOCK, - . - . 149 

ABOUT OUR CATTLE SHOW, 157 

WHAT THEY DO AT OTIS, 178 

PITTSFIELD YOUNG LADIES' INSTITUTE, - - - 186 

LANESBORO'. — HILLS AND VALLEYS, - - - - 192 

GRANULAR QUARTZ. — SILICIOUS SAND BEDS, - - 202 
MONUMENT MOUNTAIN. — ICY GLEN. — STOCKBRIDGE 

BOWL. — THE MURDERED TRAVELLER'S GLEN, - 207 

WAHCONAH'S falls, and a TRADITION ABOUT THEM, 213 



TAGHCONIC. 

CHAPTER I. 

OUR TOWN. ITS OLD ELM. ITS ENVIRONS. ITS 

PEOPLE. ITS PAST AND PRESENT. 

To be sure the first claim which our town has to 
notice is that it is ours. The ^^ propria " is an excel- 
lent and universally recognised title to our affections ; 
the very idea of property is genial to our hearts — 
even if it be only in the travelled streets of a town, 
with so much of Heaven's universal gifts as one can 
there possess, use and enjoy, in common with six 
thousand copartners. "Mine" and, more intensely, 
" mine own " are terms of superlative endearment in 
the patois of the novel writers. So deeply indeed is 
this correspondence between ownership and affection 
implanted in .e breast, that no sooner does a man con- 
ceive a passion for his neighbor's house, horse, or any 
thing that is his, than an uneasy, feverish desire to 
transfer the possession betrays that his mind is out of 
unison with the harmony of Nature. Nowhere is this 
reciprocal relation more heartily honored than in the 



10 TAGHCONIC. 



love which the good people of Pittsfield bear to 
their beautiful town. Waiving, however, this claim, 
which is, in its terms, not binding upon a stranger, our 
town has a title to affectionate admiration in its beauty, 
its environs and its associations, which no traveller 
ever desires to impeach. It is indeed a fair town. 
Standing in the centre of that magnificent panorama 
of hiUs which encompasses the County of Berkshire, it 
is encircled by a chain of beauty. Branching from its 
central green, delightful avenues extend in all direc- 
tions into the most picturesque and inviting regions ; 
but, before we permit them to entice us away, let us 
linger a little while under the circular grove of elms 
which shades its green. 

You must have heard of the Old Elm of Pittsfield ; 
it rises here above us — the scarred and seared veteran 
of centuries in the midst of the young green growth. 
Straight into the air it soars one hundred and twenty 
six feet ; a tall, grey pillar, bearing upon its head a few 
green branches and a few withered, shattered, and bare 
limbs. From Greylock to Monument Mountain there 
is no inanimate thing so reverend and venerable as this. 

It has had hair-breadth escapes in its day — has that 
old tree. When it stood a graceful sapling in the un- 
touched forest — wherein as yet no white man had his 
habitation — it is told that the Indian war parties came 
hither at night, with the pale-faced prisoners whom 
they had taken from the Southern settlements. Here, 
upon the place which is now our peaceful green, they 
pitched their camp, and bound the swollen and bleed- 
ing limbs of their miserable captives to the young elm, 
while they slept. Once, as the story goes, a prisoner, 



THE OLD ELM. 11 



worn out by the way and unable to proceed, was bound 
to the lithe trunk of the elm, the faggots piled around 
him and already lighted, for the last rite of savage 
cruelty, when Providence interfered — probably in the 
shape of a French priest, or officer, — the victim was 
rescued, and with him the young tree escaped its first 
danger from the hand of man ; but the kindling flames 
had left their mark upon it, by which it was after- 
wards recoarnised. 

It lived to see the red race vanish from the land, 
and another people usurp their hunting-grounds ; but 
its own dangers were not yet past. The new race 
were pious and Godly men, and must have a temple in 
which to worship the Most High. They built them- 
selves a Meeting-house — which we may suppose to 
have been a rude and simple structure — close by the 
Elm. A few years passed, they grew mightily, and their 
borders became too narrow for them. It was deter- 
mined to build a larger and more goodly church. 
Meanwhile the Elm had grown very tall and straight, 
and the devout deacons who had it in charge to build 
the new sanctuary, cast their eyes upon it and said 
that it was convenient and fitting for a principal beam 
in the frame. Perhaps they thought the Almighty had 
planted and preserved it there for that special purpose, 
as He once furnished a ram to Abraham for a sacrifice. 
If any such thought did enter their hearts the event 
proved its falsity ; the tree turned out the better rep- 
resentative of Isaac, — for at the critical moment, when 
it was about to be sacrificed, an angel apj^eared to save 
it, in the person of one Mrs. Williams, a brave and 
excellent dame who lived not far off. Seeing the 



12 TAGHCONIC. 



preparations for felling her favorite tree, she placed 
herself as a shield before it, and so stoutly maintained 
her post that the destroyers were at last either softened 
or shamed from their purpose, and the tree was per- 
mitted to remain. 

The husband of this brave and gentle lady did his 
share toward the preservation of the Old Elm. On 
Sundays the devout worshippers were in the habit of 
fastening their horses to iron spikes, with which they 
had encircled the tree ; the sermons, in those days, 
were none of the shortest, and while their masters 
waited for the third turning of the hour-glass, the 
beasts made ruinous havoc with the bark and roots of 
the Elm. To prevent this weekly equine attack, Mr. 
Williams piled up a barricade of stones, which proved 
an effective protection. It is to this gentleman that 
the village owes also its public square, — of which he 
gave the southern half from his own land, on condition 
that the town should place their Meeting-house at a 
corresponding distance from the Elm on the north. 

The tree, having survived the attacks of savage and 
civilized man, had a more formidable enemy to encoun- 
ter. Some years ago, a thunder-bolt fell upon it, and 
running down its side stripped away the bark, leaving 
a naked wound of ghastly whiteness, from top to bot- 
tom. The fiery fluid dried up the juices in its old 
veins ; many of the limbs died, and the whole tree, 
surviving the fury of savage and the piety of civilized 
man, is slowly perishing of the wrath of Heaven. A 
few branches yet flourish greenly, but year by year 
grow less. It is evident our old friend will survive not 
many more Winters ; and as often as the Spring begins 



THE DWELLINGS. 13 



to swell the buds in the grove, the question is asked 
anxiously, " Will the Old Elm survive this year, also ? " 

Yet even in its death it is fortunate ; the long, white 
streak, where the scathing lightning passed adown 
its trunk, caught the eye of Herman Mellville, who 
interwove it with his strong-lined portrait of Captain 
Ahab. " Threading its way," he says, " out from 
among his grey hairs, and continuing right down 
one side his tawny, scorched face and neck, till it 
disappeared in his clothing, you saw a slender, rod-like 
mark, lividly whitish. It resembled that perpendicular 
seam sometimes made in the straight, lofty trunk of a 
great tree, when the upper lightning tearingly darts 
down it, and, without wrenching a single twig, peels 
and grooves out the bark, from top to bottom, ere run- 
ning off into the soil, — leaving the tree still greenly 
alive, but branded." There you have a graphic picture 
of one of the most noticeable features of our Old Elm ; 
and thus, in its death stroke it received a new life, — 
as the ancients fabled that they who died by the light- 
ning's bolt, thereby became immortal. 

Branching from the central square, extend the broad, 
quiet, shaded streets, bordered by pretty white-walled 
houses, with handsome gardens and court-yards green 
with shrubbery, — a delightful Summer promenade. 
To the town's people these dwellings are each pregnant 
with associations of the past ; each has its story. They 
tell you — these good citizens — as you pass along, now 
pleasant, gossiping histories ; now low hissed scandals, 
mouldy and soured, which ought long ago to have been 
in their graves ; and occasionally you hear a tale of 
open or proved guilt, such as you would rather not 
1* 



14 TAGHCONIC. 



believe could have its dwelling in sucli innocent-looking 
homes. Yet is our town unsurpassed, in the virtue, 
intelligence, and cultivation of its citizens. One who 
calls it " ours " only by courtesy can modestly say it. 

You hear them speak names which call up no image 
in your mind, and which have long since ceased to 
receive an answer in these streets. They call places 
by appellations unfamiliar to your ears. The iron 
horse has brought new wealth, prosperity and hope to 
the thriving town. There are groceries where there 
used to be gardens ; mansions where there used to be 
meadows. The town is richer and handsomer than it 
was ; but in many hearts, for whom the old quiet used 
to be full of joy and peace, the new wealth and crowd 
and noisy prosperity cannot but sometimes awaken 
painful longings. In the stillness of the evening — 
when the shrill cry of the steam-whistle pierces the ear 
and goes echoing into the breathless distance, like the 
shout of a drunken man on the solemn midnight — you 
listen to their touching reminiscences of the past, and 
are moved by laments for which the eager, throbbing 
heart of common life has no chord in unison. 

In these streets live some whose names are known to 
fame. A little apart from the village is the mansion 
and farm of Governor Briggs — our model man. The 
mansion is a handsome one, in a fine location, and pro- 
fusely surrounded with shrubbery. Nearer our square 
is the residence of the Rev. Dr. Todd. To say nothing 
of his eloquence as a divine, and his excellence as a 
writer of light literature, every student ought to make a 
pilgrimage to the home of the author of the " Student's 
Manual," — the most perfect work of its kind ever 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 15 

written ; to whose paternal and skillful advice many- 
young men owe all they are or will be. 

On a gentle knoll on one of our most beautiful streets, 
is the country seat of Hon. Nathan Appleton, in 
which is the " Old Clock on the Stairs," celebrated by 
Professor Longfellow. 

" Somewhat back from the village street 
Stands the old fashioned country seat ; 
Across its antique portico 
Tall poplar trees their shadows throw, — 
And from its station in the hall 
An ancient time-piece says to all — 

Forever, never, 

Never, forever." 

A couple of miles farther south, upon a little hill, 
around which the Housatonic makes a graceful curve, 
is the villa of Oliver Wendell Holmes. His estate 
here is the relic of a whole township, purchased of the 
Indians by an ancestor of the poet. He thus tells the 
story in a speech at the Berkshire Jubilee, in 1848. 
"In the year 1735, Hon. Jacob Wendell, my grand- 
father in the maternal line, bought a township, not then 
laid out — the township of Pontoosuc, (now Pittsfield,) 
— and that little spot which we still hold is the relic of 
24,000 acres of baronial territory. When I say this, 
no feeling which can be the subject of ridicule animates 
my bosom ; I know too well that the hills and rocks 
outlast our families ; I know that we fall upon the 
places we claim as the leaves of the forest fall, — and, 
as passed the soil from the original occupants into the 
hands of my immediate ancestor, I know it must pass 
from me and mine ; and yet, with pleasure and pride I 
feel that I can take every inhabitant by the hand and 



16 TAGHCONIC. 



say, that if not a son nor a grandson of this fair county, 
I am at least allied by an hereditary relation." 

Adjoining the estate of Dr. Holmes is that of Her- 
man Mellyille, who has retired thus far from the 
sea, where nothing can remind him of the familiar 
sounds of Ocean, save the roar of the wind among the 
forest trees. 



Oh, home returned, what joy to tell 
Of all the dangers that befell 
The sailor boy at sea." 



These gentlemen come hither for quiet ; let us leave 
them to it, hoping that they may find in the bracing 
mountain air inspiration for a hundred things as wise 
and witty as "Astrea," and as enchantingly truthful 
as "Typee." 

For ourselves, we will close our ramble round the 
town by climbing South Mountain — a favorite resort 
of the town's people. Few spots any where are more 
attractive. Passing from its foot, up the broad, natural 
terraces which wind around it, bordered by a thousand 
variegated wild flowers, to its rocky summit, you are 
presented with scenes of ever-changhig beauty. The 
over-view from the summit is the best you can find of 
Pittsfield and the northern valley, as far as Greylock. 
Standing on its topmost rock, under a spreading oak 
which waves its branches like a green banner, high 
above the surrounding wood, you will be enchanted by 
the varied scene below. 

Just at your feet, in the lands of J. R. More wood, 
Esq., will lie the Mellville Pond — the tiniest little 
lakelet you ever saw, — so crystal, clear, and pure, that 



MOUNTAIN SCENERY. 17 

a fanciful and poetic friend calls it a " Tear of Heaven." 
There is a cool and mossy path upon its eastern border, 
completely overarched by trees, — " No more sky, for 
overbranching at your head than at your feet." Rarely, 
through a leaf-screened crevice, the green and golden 
light streams down with a subdued gorgeousness. 
There is something exquisitely rich in these and other 
woodland tints ; I cannot forget the purple hue which 
a few struggling rays of light imparted to a little spot 
of black earth, as I walked in this cool retreat once 
when it was fierce noontide without. The very outlines 
marked by its rich, deep coloring, are vividly present 
to me now ; while so much that seemed more enduring 
has faded from existence, and is fading from memory. 

But back again to our mountain top. It is the small- 
est of three sister hills ; on its western side is Mt. 
Oceola — another much prized resort, but of less gentle 
attractions than South Mountain. Still farther to the 
west is Perry's Peak ; I have never visited it, but am 
told the view from it is hardly, if at all, surpassed by 
that from Greylock, and I can well believe it. 

Other beautiful things are shown to us from this pin- 
nacle, but of them anon ; other things of interest might 
be said of our people, but of that also at another, per- 
haps a distant time. 



CHAPTER II. 

WASHINGTON MOUNTAIN. JJNDINE's GLEN. 

AND LAKE ASHLEY. 

This last lias been a week of rare sultriness with 
us — the fierce, dying flicker of Summer's life flame. 
The maple leaves have lost the last remnant of their 
glossy freshness ; the cattle stand cooling themselves 
under the willow trees in the still pools of the river ; 
long ago the birds ceased their songs and fled into the 
deeper recesses of the woods ; w^e human idlers lie list- 
lessly under the shade of the nearer groves, in dreamy 
reveries or feeble speculations upon the probable destiny 
of some little cloud which may chance to sj)eck the 
horizon — the forlorn hope of a thunder-shower. At 
evening we broach some mild beverage of conversation, 
but if any venturous tongue leads the imagination to 
your torrid city of Manhattoes, we start back as if from 
the flaming mouth of a furnace. On the most fiery day 
of this fiery seven, came a friend wdio, that day of all 
others, must climb Washington Mountain. No flaming 
sword of the elements could deter him, and all the 
chivalry of friendship forbade me to abandon his side. 
This Washington Mountain is part of the Hoosac range, 
a continuation of the Green Mountains, Avhicli runs 
through the entire length of Berkshire County, on its 



WASHINGTON MOUNTAIN. 19 

eastern border. The point wliich. we were to visit lies 
some seven miles east of Pittsfield, and seven hundred 
feet above it ; that is, not far from eighteen hundred 
feet above tide-water, at Albany. 

Thinking to escape the more violent heat, we set out 
at a very early hour, but the air was already intensely 
sultry, and, still worse, was filled with a fine white 
dust, that completely penetrated eyes, nose, and mouth. 
"We could neither see, breathe, nor speak, with comfort ; 
and the gritty particles between our teeth sent a ner- 
vous shudder through the whole frame. As we ascended 
the mountain we came upon a fine breeze which never 
fails there, and which at the same time aggravated the 
plague of the dust, and inspired us with vigor to devise 
and execute a remedy. 

Ever and anon, by the road-side, appeared glimpses 
of a deep, rocky gorge. Up this, L. proposed to ascend 
the mountain by a path familiar to him, and, accord- 
ingly, sending our horse forward, we plunged down a 
steep descent thick beset with brambles. At the bot- 
tom, a little brook came tumbling and purhng down the 
hill, and, yielding to its suggestions, we indulged in a 
series of luscious ablutions. None but those who have 
experienced the like, can know the thrilling vigor and 
elasticity which penetrated us with the cool mountain 
air when the burning and inflammatory dust was once 
removed from the pores. 

Filled with new life, we pushed eagerly up the brook, 
now clambering over huge angular blocks of flint rock, 
now sauntering along smooth patches of green sward, 
and anon pushing our way through a thorny hedge of 
blackberry bushes, hanging full of the ripest fruit. 



20 TAGHCONIC. 



Still L. led on, till we came to a little level spot of 
green sward, around which the brook swept in a grace- 
ful curve, while a thick leaved maple overhung it. 
We were here shut out from all sight of human habi- 
tation. The only traces of man's ravages were the 
weather-beaten stumps, which stood, ghastly memorials 
of his parricidal war with nature, like the bleached 
sculls which the ploughman turns up on an ancient 
battle-field. The precipitous hills, on either side, were 
yet shaggy, although not as of old, with the maple, the 
beech, the fir, and the hemlock. Just up the gorge, the 
streamlet leaped down a black ledge in a silver white 
column ; while, beyond, the glen was dark with narrow- 
ing cliffs and over-hanging trees. Bravely, but in vain, 
the gorgeous sunshine darted its arrowy rays into that 
ThermopyliE of gloom. 

L. flung himself at full length beneath the maple, 
and I Avas glad to follow his examj^le. " Do you 
know," he said, " this is Undine's Glen ? Shall I tell 
you the story of how it got its foreign name ? " Do, 
I replied. 

Enbine's (5oxqc. 

One day in June, some ten years ago, there came to 
the village hotel in P. two ladies ; the one. Miss Helen 
v., an heiress, and what was more, a spirited, brilliant, 
and natural girl. The other was her maiden aunt, 
Miss M., neither young nor pretty, yet a little roman- 
tic and not a little stiff in her manners. Miss M. held 
moreover the responsible office of guardian to her 
niece, which that young lady took the best care should 
be anything but a sinecure. 



undine's gorge. 21 

Riding, walking, and reading, the lone dames wliiled 
away a week or two ; when, provokingly enough, just 
as the last page of their last light reading was cut, 
there came a rainy, dreary day, as such days will come, 
even in June. At such desperate junctures, solid lite- 
rature and re-readings are not to be thought of; so 
recourse was had to the landlord. That functionary 
was anxious to serve his fair guests, but unfortunately 
his shelves contained just what they had already read. 
Suddenly his face brightened with a new idea. Among 
his boarders was one Dr. M., who, to enliven his hours 
in the country had brought with him from New York 
a curious library. This gentleman was summoned, and 
made his appearance, — a very personable young gen- 
tleman and a clever. The wants of the ladies were 
made known to him, and he invited them to examine 
his library for themselves, and some pictures which he 
prized as well. 

Helen was delighted, although she did not exactly 
say so then ; Miss M. hesitated, with some secret mis- 
givings, but finally, overcome by the fiend ennui and 
the frank bearing of M., she, courteously enough, ac- 
cepted the invitation. Evening was upon them before 
they had completed the survey, for, besides his paint- 
ings by other artists, M. modestly displayed his own 
portfolio, filled with sketches of foreign as well as 
neighboring scenery. Helen eagerly turned them over, 
and M. had an enthusiastic word for many a remem- 
bered scene. After Miss M. had several times re- 
minded her of her prolonged stay, Helen selected De 
La Motte Fouque's delightful romance of " Undine " 
from the library, and that evening M. read it aloud to 
2 



22 TAGHCONIC. 



them in their parlor. Before they parted the ladies 
had consented to accompany him on the morrow to this 
spot, of which he was going to complete a sketch. So 
does friendship ripen when the right sun-light falls 
upon it. 

They came hither; the artist fixed his easel and 
wrought on his sketch. Helen, seated at the foot of 
this maple, read "Undine" to her aunt. But both 
found an interval to wander up the glen ; so with read- 
ing, sketching, romancing, — and most likely eating — 
the day wore away and the night came, — a moonlight 
night and a moonlight ride home. 

Some days passed, in which M. gained hugely in the 
good opinion of his fair friends, who continually teased 
him for a sight of his sketch — which he declared 
should not be seen until it was completed. Thus 
something of an air of mystery had woven itself 
around the picture when at last he brought it out, 
altogether with the air of a man who knows he has 
done a nice thing, and is rather proud to have the 
world see it. 

Never was pride more completely dashed, or lover 
more completely puzzled. Helen blushed and smiled, 
but looked strangely and heartily vexed. The guardian 
aunt frowned unequivocally — not to say scowled. Poor 
M. turned from one to the other in most innocent and 
ludicrous bewilderment ; but finally settled down into a 
fixed consideration of the cloud which had so suddenly 
gathered on the old lady's brow, — as a Summer storm 
sometimes will over the placid surface of Lake Ashley. 
The Summer storm is transient, but Miss M. seemed 
to have an inexhaustible magazine of wrath behind 



undine's gorge. 23 

her wrinkled forehead. So, taking a hint from Helen's 
eye, at the first growl of the thunder M. fled. 

The tempest was brewed in this wise. The good 
old lady, with all her romance and stateliness, had a 
spice of puritanism about her, and the special phase in 
which it shewed itself was a prudish modesty in the 
matter of pictures. Why it took tliis form, more than 
any other, might be discovered, perhaps, if we could 
pry into the crooks and crannies of her early history. 
At present it only concerns us to know that it was 
there, and that in consequence of it she issued a husky 
edict for M. to " take his vile picture hence." 

Now this vile painting was neither more nor less 
than a simple and spirited sketch of this scene, into 
which the artist had interwoven a portrait of Helen in 
the character of Undine. All very well — only the 
painter, with the modest assurance of his art, had 
changed the maiden's chaste garb for a bit of flimsy 
drapery, which displayed the ivory neck and swelling 
bosom, the taper leg and rosy foot, as circumstantially 
as though he had had the original all the while before 
him for a model. O fair and false imagination, to steal 
away so fair and true a reality ! 

Miss M. would have thought her ward's character 
altogether compromised by interchanging a word more 
with the immoral young man M. had proved himself, 
in her estimation. Helen thought quite otherwise. 
Fortunately for M., there was another difference in 
their notions. The aunt loved her morning pillow — 
the niece her morning walk, — and this taste of the 
damsel's now acquired a new strength that would have 
charmed Dr. Alcott. In another point of view these 



24 TAGHCONIC. 



sunrise excursions to South Mountain and Mellville's 
Lake might have been thought alarmingly frequent. 
The young lady could not have been expected or de- 
sired to make her walks solitary, but one who saw how 
demurely they met at the breakfast table would not have 
surmised that the painter had been her companion an 
hour before. 

Yjut the end was not yet ; walking, it seems, would not 
content them, — they must ride as w^ell. So one balmy 
morning in the grey twilight, a pair of spirited greys 
were reined up at the south door of the Berkshire 
House, while our young friends took their places be- 
hind them ; and then heigho for Lebanon ! " They '11 
have fleet steeds that follow, quoth young Lochinvar." 
Gallant champions of Love, these same fiery greys ! 
Before then and since they have borne beating hearts 
up the hills and down the valleys of that seven miles 
of Hymen's highway which lie between the jurisdiction 
of the puritan publishment laws and the marriage en- 
couraging State of New York. I wonder if any where 
in this w^estern world more visions of happiness have 
been dreamed, more passionate pulsations throbbed, 
than between the tall Elm of Pittsfield and the all- 
curing Springs of Lebanon. The very murmurs of 
the groves have caught the soft tones of lover's vows ; 
the sparkling streams reflect the ardent gleam of ex- 
pectant bridegroom's eyes. 

Over this hymenial highway that balmy morning 
our happy couple w^ere rapidly whirled, and before the 
sun was up, the words were said which bound them 
in that union w^hich no words can unloose. I doubt 
if their steeds were urged as impatiently on their 



LAKE ASHLEY. 25 



return, but they reached their hotel again while the 
careless guardian, fatigued with the last night's novel, 
yet slept. How they ever reconciled matters with her 
I never heard ; but it was done, for last week she sat 
quietly by, while M., in a little recessed back parlor in 
Brooklyn, told me the story of his wooing. On the 
wall, too, he pointed out to me the identical "vile 
painting ;" and by her mother's side a little Undine of 
eight Summers shook her sunny curls and laughed. I 
do n't think the painter ever regretted his day's sketch- 
ing in the wild glen he christened " Undine's Gorge." 

The story told, and a bumper drained to the health 
of the heroine, — again up, still up the cool gorge, till 
it diverged to the north, while our path lay southward 
Reclaiming our team, we now soon reached the summit 
and looked down upon the wild, billowy sea of moun- 
tains, which stretched far away to the north-east, — a 
taller peak sometimes dashing its splintered crest into 
the air, and a white village spire or a red farm-house 
appearing here and there a floating waif upon the 
waste. Upon a lofty point, miles away, sat the pretty 
village of Middlefield, glittering in the sun-light and 
looking Uke a white walled Moorish town among the 
Alpuxuras. 

Turning away at last from this majestic overview, 
we passed down a rustic road which leads to the south, 
and were soon riding along the borders of Lake Ashley 
— a little romantic loch which lies upon the summit of 
the mountain. It is indeed a most exquisite sheet of 
water. Notliing can exceed the cold, pure serenity 
of its dark waves. Lined on all sides but one by 
2* 



26 TAGHCONIC. 



unbroken woods, fed only by fountains which gush from 
below, with neither speck nor boat on all its tranquil 
surface, it seemed, as we rode slowly along its eastern 
border, the waters of solitude. It should be so ; for 
since the Indians' graceful bark is gone forever, there 
remains none which would not do violence to the lonely 
beauty of the scene. We call it Lake Ashley — a 
pretty name enough, but none worthy of it could come 
except from an Indian imagination and in the soft 
syllables of the native tongue, like those in which that 
more magnificent mountain lake was called Winnee- 
pissaukee — (not Winnepiseoga ) — the smile of God. 

In long, delicious draughts we drank deep to the 
mountain maids and the maids of the valley, — to the 
spirits of air, earth, and water, — not forgetting those 
enterprising gentlemen who propose to lead these wa- 
ters from their aerie home to the doors of the people of 
Pittsfield. To these gentlemen, and through them to 
Dr. Jackson, I am indebted for the assurance that this 
water is as pure as it seems to be — that is, the nearest 
natural approach to distilled water. 

East of the Lake, a little round well-wooded noppit 
rises, and ascending it we found a bed of very pure 
and beautiful granular quartz, which used to be worked 
for the use of the eastern glass manufacturers, but is 
long since abandoned, on account of the far greater 
abundance, as well as facilities for transportation and 
working, in other localities. 

Upon the northern side of the noppit is piled a rug- 
ged heap of those flint boulders, so frequent in this 
region. A few curious lichens grow upon them, and 
in the crevices some beautiful wild flowers. Taking 



ATMOSPHERIC CHANGES. 27 

specimens of these, as well as the quartz, and drmking 
one farewell draught at the Lake, we began our return. 

As we descended, a succession of fine views of the 
valley of the Housatonic presented themselves. Now 
the cultivated interval, then the green hills of Tagh- 
conic, and still beyond the blue and cloud-like summits 
of the Kaatskills. 

It is from this hill some of the most beautiful effects 
of atmospheric changes are observed, — and here the 
sea of mist filling the valley and then rolling up its 
sides, like the breaking up of the great deep, astonishes 
the gazer. A gentleman tells me that travellers, after 
having the road to Pittsfield pointed out to them, often 
inquire how they are to cross the Lake — so completely 
deceptive is the veil of mist. 



CHAPTER III. 

ROARING BROOK. TORIES' GLEN. AND 

SOMETHING ABOUT THE TORIES. 

"Every State and almost every county of New- 
England has its Roaring Brook — a mountain stream- 
let, overhung by woods, impeded by a mill, encumbered 
by fallen trees, but ever rushing, racing, roaring down 
through gurgling gullies and filling the forest with its 
delicious sound and freshness ; the drinking places of 
home returning herds ; the mysterious haunts of squir- 
rels and blue jays ; the sylvan retreat of school boys, 
who frequent it in the Summer holidays and mingle 
their restless thoughts with its restless, exuberant, and 
rejoicing stream." 

Thus speaks Professor Longfellow, of one of the 
prettiest elements in our native scenery. Our Roaring 
Brook I think must be familiar to the poet. Indeed, it 
is shrewdly suspected that it is the original of that 
where Churchill and Kavanagh passed so delightful a 
day with Cecilia, Alice, and the schoolmaster's wife ; if 
not, it might very well have been. 

Issuing from Lake Ashley, it comes leaping and 
dashing down the deep and rocky ravine, smiUng in 
sunshine and glooming in shade, — all the while roar- 
ing in a way fully to justify its noisy cognomen, — 



THE HAMLET. 29 



although I cannot help thinking that it would be more 
poetic to call it the " Lion Brook," whicli would include 
in the metaphor its shaggy mane of forest trees, and 
the gaping jaws of the gorge, — which, by the bye, we 
once christened the "jaws of darkness," to the fierce 
indignation of a fair friend. 

One warm October day, a three mile walk brought 
us to a smiling and fertile valley, which lies just with- 
out the mouth of the Tories' Gorge, through which 
our Roaring Brook comes tumbling down. We were 
charmed by the cheerful aspect of the farm-houses, 
whicli were here gathered into a neat and handsome 
hamlet. From the courteous and intelligent manner of 
the people, we were not surprised to learn that their 
village was within the limits of the town of Lenox. 
So gaily the sunshine fell upon the shorn fields, so 
cheerily the husbandmen were employed in completing 
their harvesting, and such a genial spirit of plenty 
seemed to pervade the whole scene, that we were 
tempted to commit the sentimental folly of calling it 
the " happy valley.'* 

Following a bye-path kindly pointed out to us, and 
guided by the sounds of the Brook, we soon entered the 
dark shades of the gorge, through which it comes leap- 
ing impatiently from fall to fall, for five weary miles, 
until it loses itself in the winding Housatonic. It must 
be a sweet relief to the \A^ter — vexed and wearied by 
its rough passage among the sharp angled flint rocks, 
and by its arduous labors in turning mill wheels — thus 
to repose at length in the flower bordered bed of the 
river, and wander about the meadows, in what leisurely 
and graceful curves it will. 



30 TAGHCONIC. 



The change from the cheerful light of the hamlet to 
the wild and beautiful solitude within the gorge, is strik- 
ingly impressive. From the shadeless field you enter 
upon overarched paths, — among mossy trees, tall, pre- 
cipitous cliffs, and broken, topling crags. The heart 
feels the change instantly, and conforms itself instinc- 
tively to it. 

Here we find those adamantine blocks of flint-rock 
which characterize and rudely adorn this w^hole moun- 
tain range. Sometimes they lie confusedly upon the 
mountain's steep slope, then again they impede the 
rushing course of the brook. In the bed of the stream 
the ever-rolling current, in the course of ages, has pol- 
ished and rounded even these obdurate masses. It is 
startling to think by how many years of constant attri- 
tion the soft flowing wave has accomplished its purpose. 
How many centuries ago did the savage stoop to drink 
at this mountain stream, and think of nothing but the 
cooling draught — least of all that the smooth, gliding 
fluid was bearing away a portion of the solid rock 
whereon he stood, to form a soil for a conquering race ! 
Yet here, two thousand years ago. Nature kept some 
million tons of water at work, to add a few ounces in 
the year to what should be the farm of her true wor- 
shipper — Oliver Wendell Holmes. Meanwhile the 
poet's ancestors were roasting people at Stonehenge, by 
great baskets'-full, — far less mindful than Mother Na- 
ture of their witty and polished descendant. 

Upon either side the ravine these rocks are piled up 
on the hill sides in the maddest confusion, — with crev- 
ices and dens between and beneath them, which in for- 
mer days may have afforded accommodation for a whole 



THE TORIES. 31 



city of wild beasts. I wearied myself with seeking 
among them for one cavern, which tradition says in 
revolutionary times afforded shelter to the hunted Tories. 
I might have saved myself some trouble and chagrin, 
by paying closer attention to my directions, for I could 
not satisfy myself of its locality, and was afterwards 
informed that it is not on the hill-side at all, but under 
the road over which I passed, — and although likely to 
escape observation, perfectly easy of access when you 
once know the way. 

One of the Tories — thus driven out to make their 
homes among wild beasts — must nevertheless have 
been a kind man at heart. They tell a touching inci- 
dent of him, that, when concealed in some hiding place 
at home, he made his wife cause all his children to pass 
daily before a crevice, which supplied him with light 
and air, that he might see their innocent faces, and 
know that no harm had befallen them. 

With all the harshness which it was deemed neces- 
sary by the Whigs to visit upon them, and with all the 
odium which still clings to their memory, I cannot help 
thinking that many of the loyalists were good, well- 
meaning, God-fearing men, — although we cannot doubt 
that the majority were moved by craven and selfish 
considerations, and that all were miserably mistaken. 
It is a mistake very easily discovered now. 

Some of the anecdotes which remain of the Tories, 
among our Berkshire traditions, are very honorable to 
their character as men. There are two, which I heard 
from two of our most eminent and learned citizens, and 
which they received from the best authority — I believe 
from the late venerable Judge Walker — which are so 



32 TAGHCONIC. 



well authenticated and so characteristic that I shall tell 
them both — although the latter I think I saw, many 
years ago, in print — and with a few variations, in un- 
important particulars. 

In the early part of the Revolution there lived in 
Lenox a staunch old Tory, who openly professed his 
allegiance to King George, and his hostility to the 
rebel cause ; but, as he confined his opposition to words, 
and was greatly respected and beloved by his fellow 
citizens, for his many excellent qualities as a friend and 
neighbor, he was allowed for a long while to enjoy his 
opinions unmolested. But the contest between England 
and the Colonies waxed every day more bitter, and the 
Committee of Safety began to be troubled with doubts 
if it were consistent with their duty to j)ermit one who 
so loudly vaunted his toryism to live among them, and 
encourage others to commit outrages of which he would 
not be personally guilty. 

The matter was often a subject of deliberation, but 
the committee were reluctant to act. At length, how- 
ever, in some dark and trying hour, — perhaps in the 
bitterness of defeat, perhaps after hearing of the hor- 
rors of Wyoming — they resolved to move. Paying a 
visit at once to the Tory, they informed him they had 
come to the conclusion that his example was too perni- 
cious to the cause of Liberty to be any longer permit- 
ted. They regretted the circumstance, but their duty 
was imperative ; in short, he must take the oath of 
allegiance to the Colonies — or swing. 

The oath was peremptorily and unhesitatingly re- 
fused ; and the next step was an extemporaneous gal- 
lows, erected in the public street, beneath which the 



THE OLD TORY. 33 



recusant was placed, and the rope tightened around his 
throat, but immediately loosened and the oath again 
proffered, and again declined. 

All arguments and threats proving abortive, the con- 
temptuous loyalist was again drawn up, and left to 
hang until he became purple in the face, — care being 
taken to lower him and apply restoratives, before life 
was extinct. Consciousness being once more restored, 
the oath was again tendered, and he was entreated to 
yield to the necessity of the case, but his stubborn 
spirit was not yet broken ; he refused to renounce his 
allegiance to the Crown. 

Things were now coming to a crisis ; the committee, 
who probably were by this time sorry they had taken 
the matter in hand, retired for- consultation. It was 
resolved that, to retreat after going so far as they had 
done, would weaken their authority, and that the good 
of the cause required that the prisoner should take the 
oath, or suffer death for his contumacy. 

The loyalist received their decision with unflinching 
determination not to yield a hair's breadth in what he 
believed to be the right. The committee were equally 
resolved, and he was again drawn up, — perhaps with 
some angry violence. At once the limbs stiffened ; the 
arms hung down ; it seemed the work of death was too 
faithfully done. Probably the committee had not in- 
tended to carry the matter to such an extreme ; if they 
did, such a sight might well have brought back their 
old affection for a tried friend and kind neighbor. 
They hastened to cut down the body, and use every 
effort to undo their fatal work. 

There seemed at first little hope of reanimating the 
3 



34 TAGHCONIC. 



senseless clay ; but at length the limbs slightly relaxed 
their rigidity, the eyes moved, and the livid hue began 
to disappear from the cheek. Consciousness slowly 
and painfully returned ; the victim sat upright, — and 
the question was again asked : " Will you swear ? " 
" Yes," faintly responded the half-dead convert to pat- 
riotism. 

A few moments afterwards, as he was sitting before 
the tavern fire, warming his limbs chilled by so danger- 
ous an approach to the " icy realm," he was heard to 
mutter, thoughtfully to himself, — " Well ! this is a 
hard way to make Whigs — but it 'U do it ! " 

And accordingly, from that day to the close of the 
war, he was one of the most zealous and unwavering 
of the patriots. 

The other anecdote illustrates still more remarkably 
the same trait of unflinching regard to rectitude. 

It seems that at some time during the Revolution 
one Gideon Smith, of Tyringham — a romantic and 
beautiful town in the south of Berkshire — was accused 
of the crime of high treason, of which there could be 
no doubt he was guilty. The trial was to be at Spring- 
field, but the court did not sit for some weeks, — during 
which interval Smith was confined in the Berkshire 
County gaol, — but, unwilling to waste the time in idle- 
ness, he applied to the Sheriff for permission to go out 
daily to work, promising to return faithfully to the 
prison every night. So well was the Tory's character 
for integrity established, that, although he was commit- 
ted on a capital charge, and did not deny the facts 
alleged against him, the Sheriff did not hesitate to 
comply with liis request ; and so well was that con- 



A tort's integrity. 35 

fidence deserved, that tlie prisoner never failed to 
return to his quarters punctually every night, to be 
locked up. 

What follows is a still stronger proof of the reliance 
placed upon his word. The court was to be held at 
Springfield, and the journey to it was then a weary 
one, over rough forest roads. Smith was the only pris- 
oner to be carried on, and the Sheriff complained bit- 
terly of the trouble to which he was subjected, particu- 
larly at this busy season of the year. The Tory told 
him that it was quite unnecessary for him to go — he 
could go just as well by himself; and again he was 
trusted, and set out alone and on foot, to go fifty miles 
through the woods to surrender himself to be tried for 
his life, upon a charge where he could not hope for an 
acquital, and by a tribunal whose right to judge him he 
denied. Surely, if ever a man had an excuse to pal- 
liate a violation of confidence, it was he; the idea, 
however, seems never to have occurred to him. 

Luckily for him, on his way he was overtaken by 
the Hon. Mr. Edwards, then a member of the execu- 
tive council, to attend a session of which body he was 
then on his way to Boston. This gentleman entered 
into conversation with Smith, and, without disclosing 
his own name or official position, learned the nature of 
his companion's journey, and something of his history. 
Pondering upon what he had heard, Mr. Edwards pur- 
sued his way to Boston ; and Smith, trudging on, soon 
reached Springfield, and surrendered himself, — was 
tried ; did not deny the facts alleged against him, and, 
as a matter of course, was found guilty and condemned 
to death. 



36 TAGHCONIC. 



In due course the petitions for the pardon of persons 
under sentence of death were considered by the Hon- 
orable Council. After all had been read, Mr. Edwards 
asked if none had been received in favor of one Gideon 
Smith, of Tyringham. The reply was that there was 
none ; and a member of the council, who had been 
present at the trial, remarked that the case was one of 
such undoubted and aggravated guilt, and the attach- 
ment of the criminal to the King's cause so inveterate, 
that there could be no reason for granting a pardon in 
this case, unless it was extended in every other. 

Mr. Edwards, in reply, related his adventure with 
Smith on the road, and also his story, which he had 
taken pains to have substantiated by the Sheriff of 
Berkshire. A murmur of admiration went round the 
council board ; it was unanimously agreed that such a 
man ought not to die upon the gallows, and after some 
brief discussion, an unconditional pardon was made out 
and dispatched to Springfield. 

The number of Tories in this region is said to have 
been much greater than I used to suppose. The gorges 
in the Taghconic range, between Hancock and Lanes- 
boro', were favorite rendezvous with them. Previous 
to one battle — I think that of Bennington — just one 
half of one company deserted the Continental standard 
and joined the enemy. Probably they considered their 
position, after the engagement, more astonishing than 
agreeable. 

Yet, as I said, the anecdotes just repeated show, what 
common sense would lead us to expect, that there were 
good men and well-wishers to their country in the loy- 
alist ranks. The worst cause is never without good 



LOYALTY. 37 

men among its partizans, nor the best without bad. It 
must be so while reason dwells side by side in the soul 
with prejudice. 

When sides had once been taken, in the dim light of 
the dawning struggle the rights and wrongs of things 
did not so clearly appear to men, blinded by the heat of 
passion, as to us in the calmness of after years, and 
with all the light of experience. Besides, powerful 
motives — too little taken into account in the great 
aggregate — influence individual minds with irresistible 
force. One is descended from a long line of loyal an- 
cestors, and the idea is interwoven with his whole life 
that his first duty to God and man is to maintain the 
family honor untarnished by rebellion. It may be a 
false, very false notion, but it has had its thousand mar- 
tyrs in other days. Another has received some loyal 
boon that binds him — if of a generous nature — for 
ever to the cause of the giver. Another was taught 
by a long lost mother to fear God and honor the King ; 
and still he hears her gentle accents repeat the time- 
honored prayer, " God save the King." 

These may be thought weak and unworthy motives, 
to be weighed in the balance against a nation's welfare, 
yet they did exist, and we cannot altogether despise or 
hate those who, in obedience to them, took part even 
against our own liberty, and bore the loathed name of 
Tory. 

3* 



CHAPTER IV. 

PONTOOSUC LAKE AND ROLLING ROCK. 

O THOU most rare day in June, whose rain of golden 
moments fell so preciously by the green borders of 
Pontoosue ! There shall be few like thee, in the glad- 
dest Summer month ! 

With L. and two other friends from the dear Tri- 
Mountain city, I went that faultless morning to pass 
the "lee lang Simmer day" by the clear waters of 
our favorite mountain lake, — the popular favorite, for, 
fair as it is, I confess that it has one rival in my own 
breast. But this is beautiful enough to satisfy any 
desire. There can be no finer approach to a fine scene 
than that by which you reach Pontoosue, — of which, 
by the bye, the true Indian name was Schoon-keek- 
moon-keek. Passing the neat and tasteful manufactur- 
ing village, you enter a piece of winding willow-shaded 
road, on the left of which the ground descends steeply 
to the rocky bed of the river, which a few rods further 
on falls in a cataract, whose worst fault is that it is 
artificial. One not too finically fastidious might find it 
worthy a moment's notice. 

Then comes the blue surface of the lake, in mirror 
like smoothness, or sparkling in light, — broken only 
by a pair of emerald islets. You catch your first view 



PONTOOSUC LAKE. 39 

of the water between hills covered with a magnificent 
growth of pine ; with, upon one side, here and there an 
elm and beech. As you pass through these woody 
portals, the view expands ; the farther shore of the 
lake rises gradually into hills, until afar oflf in the west 
it terminates in the graceful Taghconics, — every sum- 
mit of which, on a calm, clear day, is mirrored undis- 
torted in the unruffled water. On the north the long 
valley stretches away until it finds its barriers in the 
double peaks of Greylock. You will pause, as we did, 
by the two trees which stand in brotherly union on the 
green lawn-like slope of the eastern bank of the lake, 
and admire the almost artistic arrangement of the 
stately grove of pines, the single elm, and the twin oaks 
and hemlocks. 

Driving slowly along the road, with the gently rip- 
pling waters upon our left, and the cool evergreen 
grove upon our right, we stopped here and there, to 
gather splendid bouquets of the scarlet columbine, and 
to listen to the chorus of the birds, that joined with 
most melodious energy in the songs of M. and F. 

At the end of the lake, sending our carriage before, 
we retraced our steps, lingering by the pebbly shore to 
listen to the little dashings of the wavelets, which 
simultaneously reminded us all of the beatings of the 
great billows on the rocky Atlantic shore, one other 
Summer day. It was singular, this mimicking of the 
great sea by the little mountain loch. F. said it re- 
minded her how she was once startled by recognising 
the tones of a distinguished orator in the lispings of 
his infant grandson. 

As we stood here, we espied across the water a tiny 



40 TAGHCONIC. 



grove, well known to all our lovers of pic-nic. This 
we determined to honor by making it our bower for the 
morning, and we soon established ourselves under its 
shade, with L.'s flute, F.'s guitar, and a plentiful supply 
of creature comforts. There, with music, poetry, dining, 
and more indefinable pleasures, we passed five hours, 
which are not lightly to be forgotten in lives which 
have few such. I need not describe to you all our lake 
side joys. Go thither upon such a day and in such 
company, and, if you do not find them out, never go 
again. 

There are fanciful legends about this lake ; one of 
which is admirably told by Rev. Dr. Todd. There is 
a superstitious tale, also, that a shadowy bark with a 
shadowy boatman is sometimes seen to glide over its 
midnight waters, darting from point to point, as if in 
search of that which it is doomed never to find. What 
it is this restless phantom seeks — whether lost love or 
hidden foe, I do not think that legends tell. I have 
often passed that way at the " witching hour of night ;" 
some times when the pale moonbeams threw their 
ghastly light all over the waters, and shrieks and howls 
were heard, which it was past my zoology to assign to 
any beast, bird, or reptile,* — sometimes when the fish- 
ing skiffs, with the red glare of their torches, looked 
sufficiently infernal, — but, for the phantom boatman, I 
cannot rightly say I ever caught sight of his ghostship. 

When the day had a little declined, we resolved to 
extend our excursion. A mile or so to the north there 
is a very extraordinary natural curiosity. In a grove 
upon the land of Socrates Squires, Esq., is a large 
egg shaped stone, weighing many tons. This titanic 



ROLLING ROCK. 41 



mass is so nicely balanced upon a pivot of a few inches 
width, that, although to the eye one side appears more 
than doubly to outbalance the other, through all con- 
vulsions and commotions of Nature, it remains un- 
moved and immovable. How this singular rock came 
perched in its present position, and how it maintains its 
equilibrium, there must remain a secret. The wise 
ones guess it to be a relic of the Flood, but are divided 
in opinion whether the rushing waters found it in its 
present position and merely washed away the surround- 
ing earth, or Avhether they tore it from some distant 
native bed, and set it up here as a trophy of their vic- 
torious career. There were too many matters of ab- 
sorbing interest pressing upon the people of that day? 
for them to take note even of so extraordinary a pebble 
as this. There is a tradition extant that this was used 
by the aborigines for one of their sacrifice rocks. — I 
do not know upon what authority it rests, but it is well 
enough to believe it, if you can. One thing is certain, 
the anomalous nature of this rock never disturbed their 
simple meditations ; they had a ready solution for all 
such problems, — it was the work of the Great Spirit. 

To this singular rock we came, on that beautiful 
afternoon in June. Passing again the lake side, we 
turned off by a cross road towards the west, and rolled 
through a quiet, rural country, whose fields and cattle, 
even where houses and barns, seemed as much in exu- 
berant enjoyment of the day as ourselves. 



" Every clod feels a stir of might,— 

An instinct Tvittiin it tliat reaches and towers, 
And, grasping blindly above it for light, 
Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers ; 



42 TAGHCONIC. 



The flash of life may -vrell be seen 

Thrilling back, over hills and valleys; 
The cowslip startles in meadows green ; 

The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, 
And there 's never a leaf or a bud too mean 

To be some happy creature's palace." 

Lowell. 



We found a splendid view in various directions, from 
a hill on this road. The Lake has a wilder picturesque- 
ness from this point than from any other, and the view 
in front of the Taghconics is very fine. 

When the sun wanted an hour of his setting, we 
passed a few scattered chesnut trees and entered the 
grove where is concealed our sphinx. M. rushed to it 
with a merry laugh, declaring she would push the mon- 
ster from the seat he had kept longer than was right. 
Her gay, fairy-like figure pressed against the rude, grey 
mass with such mimic might, reminded me of a task 
assigned, in some elfin tale, to a rebellious hand-maiden 
of Queen Mab. 

We had a little intellectual amusement in decipher- 
ing the names of innumerable Julias and Carolines, 
Rosalinds, Janes, and " Roxany Augustys," inscribed 
by affectionate jack-knives, upon the bark of the sur- 
rounding trees. Some cfessic gentleman, dolefully des- 
titute of a doxy, had inscribed among them the words, 
" Memnon," and " Peucinia." I have since heard the 
story of the merry hour when " Memnon " was in- 
scribed, by a hand which has written many a witty and 
clever volume. Indeed, indeed there must have been 
a deal of witchery in the cunning priestess who made 
that stern old rock breathe such mysterious and en- 
chanting music. I wonder if ever there was anything 



ROLLING ROCK. 4S 



in that broken champagne bottle which lay at the foot 
of the rock. 

When we had clambered with a world of pains on 
to the top of the rock, we, too, had music — merry and 
sad — "music at the twilight hour." Then, as the 
evening shades deepened in the wood, came low spoken 
words of memory and of longing for those far away. 
Alas ! if all whom we invoked had come, the grave 
and the sea must have given up its dead. 

With voices softened and mellowed by deeper feel- 
ing, my companions sang an " Ave Maria," and we 
bid farewell, not gaily, to a scene mysteriously conse- 
crated by memories not its own. So, often, in scenes 
and hours when we invoke the ministers of joy, other 
spirits arise in their places, and we do not bid them 
down. 

Note. In the town of New Marlboro', about twenty miles south 
of Pittsfield, is one of those curious freaks of nature, a true rock- 
ing stone — which the " rolling rock" is not. It is a stone weigh- 
ing several tons, so balanced upon another that while the slightest 
touch causes it to oscillate, the greatest force which can be ap- 
plied, short of lifting its entire weight, will not remove it from its 
pivot. Similar stones found in the Scottish highlands, have pro- 
voked much fierce discussion amonff the Savans. The naturalists 
claiming them for their kingdom, as a work of Nature, and the 
antiquarians as stoutly maintaining that they were remains of 
ancient druidical art. I believe the contest is still feebly main- 
tained, although the discovery of similar rocks in Siberia and 
America might be supposed to put it at rest. There can be no 
doubt that the Druids used them like other marvels of nature, to 
Avork upon the superstition of their dupes, and it is not unlikely 
the same may be true of the Indian conjurers. 

In this same town of New Marlboro' is a lakelet called the 
Hermit's Pond, from a certain recluse who took up his residence 



44 TAGHCONIC. 



by its side, some six years before the breaking out of the war of 
the Revolution, and there lived until the year 1813, when worn out 
with infirmity and old age — alone and unattended — he died as he 
had lived ; for he forbade any to remain with him even for a 
single night. The village gossips thought they found a solution 
of the mystery of his life, in his inveterate hatred of women, and 
liis continually repeated remark of them, " They say they wiU 
and they wont." 

The good clergyman, who tells this anecdote, adds : " Let none 
smile at the story of Timothy Leonard ; " but for the life of me 
I can't help it, even though he be " not the only one who has 
suffered disappointed hope and mortified pride to blot out the 
social affections and produce wi-etchedness, misery and ruin." 
There is something particularly funny in the idea of a man so 
thoroughly unsophisticated as to think it strange that women 
should " say they will when they wont." Why, therein lies the 
very essence of female liberty. 



CHAPTER V. 

LEBANON SPRINGS. A DASH AT LIFE THERE. 

Down in the hilly valley beyond the mountains is 
Lebanon — New Lebanon — the capital of the Shakers; 
the seat of the Mineral Springs ; the most delightful 
of watering places; and our Gretna Green. All the 
world knows Lebanon, but how much of it, about as 
accurately as the gentleman who, upon the morning 
after his arrival desired to be shown " the cedars, for 
which he had been told the place was famous ! " 

This watering place is a very Mecca for Summer 
pilgrims, who, soon as Greylock takes off his Winter 
cap, flock to it in crowds, — some with the quiet matter- 
of-course air of annual visitors ; others, catching a fe- 
verish impulse from the city miasma, and rushing away 
like mad, to flirt with Nature and Hygeia, at the 
Springs. 

It were a curious study to enquke what brings each 
individual here; but, unfortunately for psychological 
science, the sojourners at fashionable hotels are neither 
so communicative nor so docile as the amiable occu- 
pants of our public prisons, who never refuse to answer 
the questions of statistical temperance agents, and nine 
times out of ten give the very reply which is expected 
of them. But, lamentable as is this habit of secretive- 
ness, which our fasliionables absurdly cherish, we have 
4 



46 TAGHCONIC. 



a ready resource in that supreme faculty for guessing, 
wliich makes us Yankees, from Emerson to Andrew 
Jackson Davis, the incomparable philosophers of the 
Universe. 

It is a pleasant and profitable recreation to exercise 
this precious faculty of a lazy Summer afternoon on 
the long verandahs of Columbia Hall. Laziness is the 
mother of Philosophy. There are some hundreds of 
human beings scattered about the huge hotel ; most of 
whom may be supposed to have had some motive in 
coming here, and to have some notion, more or less 
definite, of the nature of the place and the part they 
are to play in it. Perhaps, however, we may get as 
near to what that notion really is, by a tolerably shrewd 
guess, as by personal enquiry, — which latter mode of 
proceeding might also be deemed impertinent ; secre- 
tiveness being the soul of civilized life. Let us guess, 
then. 

It is easy enough to understand that the student-look- 
ing young man, with an orange colored face and sea 
green spectacles, thinks he has got into an enormous 
hospital, or perhaps only a mammoth apothecary's 
shop. He deems those gorgeous, flaunting dames, of 
whose bright presence he is rather vaguely conscious, 
of no more real value — since they will not nurse his 
invalidship — than the colored waters in the apothe- 
cary's window opposite. 

Those gay ladies themselves, of course, view the 
matter in a very reverse light. Take one of them, for 
example — that flirting, chatting, jewelled thing, Mad- 
ame, the wife of the Wall Street millionaire. With 
both those clear orbed eyes wide open, she can see 



THE VISITORS. 47 



little ill this magnificent panorama of hill and valley, 
and in this its life-throbbing heart, more than a splendid 
ball-room, or gorgeous saloon, — as indeed, for that 
matter, she would like the wide, wide world to be, — 
and is vastly annoyed that misery, with her discordant 
shrieks and disgusting deformities, should presume to 
spoil the music and mar the decorations. 

Look again. You would call yonder a frank, free 
hearted, undesigning girl. Hear with what joyous, 
summerly forgetfulness she throws off those snatches 
of unstudied song ; and see how ingenuously the blush 
rises in her cheek, now she remembers that she is not 
alone. You would not dream now — would you ? — that 
she looks upon this fair spot only as a mart in which she 
is to dispose of that dear little commodity — herself — to 
the best possible advantage ? Yet I '11 wager you a 
small farm I have in the clouds, that every note of 
that outgushing melody was aimed, point blank, at the 
handsome gentleman who has been conversing, this two 
hours past, with the pale girl in black. I only hope 
the minstrel will not be malicious enough to say, the 
pale girl is " setting her cap " for the handsome gen- 
tleman. 

Why do n't she turn her thought to drive away 
the cloud which has settled in the eye of the gloomy- 
browed man who is pacing the verandah so heavily ? 
Bless us ! the Summer sunshine glances off from 
him, and leaves not a trace of light; he has never 
sold his shadow to Satan. Yet I misdoubt ; and so we 
go on, doubting and misdoubting, guessing and misguess- 
ing, sure enough — if we would consider it — of two 
things ; that we shall always hit wide enough of the 



48 TAGHCONIC. 



mark, and never too near the charitable side of it. 
" Wise judges are we, of each other's actions ! " 

This Lebanon is not without its vein of romance. 
How could it be, when youth and age, folly and wis- 
dom, joy and sorrow, love and hatred, life and death, 
make it their yearly rendezvous ? How strange a ren- 
dezvous, oft-times ! Of those who seek here new 
thought, new hope, new feelings, how many find only 
what they bring — a jaded mind and a palsied heart? 
Mind cramped to the puny pursuit of puny things will 
not always, upon the mountains, expand and glow with 
the widening horizon and the j)urer sunlight. Passion, 
born luxuriously in the crowded city, grows and 
strengthens, and will not die in the bracing upland air. 
Yet is there forgetfulness of lighter woes and less cor- 
roding cares, in the gay saloons and woodland drives, 
as well as marvellous virtue for the diseased body in 
the bubbling waters and fresh breezes ? Care-worn 
men and women worn with ennui, do get new elasticity 
of thought and frame ; but in what do they seek a balm 
for the wounded spirit, who bring hither the broken 
hearted also, — like thee, fair and gentle L., — or was 
it that thy pure sjDirit might wing its way to Heaven 
through purer skies than overhang thy native city ? 

I said Lebanon had its vein of romance. A bach- 
elor friend of mine, who has been a lounger at Colum- 
bia Hall every Summer these ten years past, has a rich 
fund of stories — humorous, melo-dramatic, and tragi- 
cal — about those who have fluttered, flattered, flirted, 
and flitted here in that time. With him, half the 
Demoiselles who have " made their market " under his 
eye, are heroines of a quality which would surprise 



OUR friend's story. 49 

themselves not a little to know, and their husbands a 
good deal more. It is often a matter of discussion with 
us, whether, among other connubial revelations, the arts 
and devices whereby he was entrapped are usually dis- 
closed to the husband. In the absence of data from 
which to conclude, we always end in the same mists in 
which we set out. One of my bachelor friend's stories 
I will venture to repeat, although I perceive it loses 
half its flavor, for lack of the gusto with which he 
would dwell upon it. 

0l)e txjoulb be a Gentleman's tOife. 

" More beauty than ever at L. this year," I remarked 
to my friend, as we sat together one evening, about a 
year since ; it was a common observation, and I thought 
myself particularly safe in repeating it. 

" Hey ! what 's that you say ? " he ejaculated, after 
a pause, in which it seemed my words had been follow- 
ing him far down into the depths of reverie. " More 
beauty than ever at L. ! Let me tell you, my dear 
fellow, that you know nothing at all of the matter. 
It 's one of the stupid common-places of stupid common 
people." I bowed to the compliment, and the bachelor 
went on with a half sigh, "Ah! you should have 
known us in the reign of the bitter and beautiful Lizzie 
B., or in that of the wonder-working Mrs. M." 

Here the bachelor again relapsed into reverie, and I 
had time to remark to myself that this hankering after 
faded flowers, when the world was full of fresh, was an 
ugly symptom that my friend's own hey-day of beaudom 

must be on the wane. When people begin to complain 

4.* 



50 TAGHCONIC. 



that they can find no beauty, now-a-clays, like that 
which they used to meet, look if they do n't wear wigs, 
and other falsities of decoration. 

" But the most charming season," resumed the bach- 
elor, emerging again into the present, " was that of 
184-, when Kate L. was in the ascendant. She was 
far enough from beautiful, was Mrs. L., but such a 
winsome way she had with her that we all, to a man, 
acknowledged her sceptre, — and the most dazzling 
belle in her realm was ready to die with envy ; envy, 
by the bye, was a vice Mrs. L. was especially free 
from. Never was woman more ready to recognise and 
exhibit the charms of her rivals. She surrounded her 
throne with a constellation of lovely women from far 
and near, and would let none be eclipsed. A kind- 
hearted creature was she, and a sensible to boot ; a 
tithe part the jealousy we endured from the splendid 
Lizzie B. would have made Kate look as ugly as a 
Bornese ape. 

" But it was of her throne maidens that I was going 
to boast. I wish you could have looked in upon one 
of our gala nights ; we have none such now — (that, 
entre nous, was a fib of the bachelor's). There was a 
floral ball we had one night in July, — I have some 
reason to remember it, but no matter, — Mrs. L. had 
made more than usual exertions in getting up this festi- 
val, which was the opening one of the season. The 
arrangements were perfect; — the floral decorations 
unique and profuse ; the music superb ; and the supper 
just what it should be. But our Lady Patroness was 
too true a genius to give to these concomitants the mo- 
nopoly of her attention. With a magic little crow 



COUSIN NELL. 51 



quill by way of wand, she summoned from all manner 
of retreats the most brilliant assemblage of fair women 
and distinguished men that I have ever beheld ; and 
when Mrs. L. summoned youth and beauty, you might 
be sure there was something to be done. I am going 
to leave them to do it, while I tell you of my cousin 
Ellen, the fairest of them all. 

"You remember Nell — my uncle Fred's Nell — 
the merriest girl that ever hid deep design under care- 
less laugh. Uncle Fred., you must know, left her an 
orphan, at twenty, — with exquisite accomplishments, 
unrivalled tact, and four thousand dollars, with which 
to make her way in the world, as she best might. Her 
guardian — a staid, business-like old gentleman, guard- 
ian to half the heiresses in the county, as well — when 
her year of mourning was over, advised her to buy a 
share in a boarding-school, and earn her living by 
teaching. *With your accomplishments and talents, 
my dear,' — the good, fatherly old man was going on, 
when he was astonished to find his pretty ward cutting 
short his speech with — 

" ' With my accomplishments and talents, my dear 
guardian, I do n't intend to squeeze my brain like a 
lemon, to give flavor to some insipid school girl, while 
I might as well be rivalling her mamma. No ! I '11 
invest in — a husband ! ' — and here her little foot came 
down with a will. 

"The guardian stared; but he was too sensible a 
man to oppose a woman whose will was up ; and so, 
under the nominal chaperonship of his wife, Ellen 
opened her first campaign at Lebanon. 

" That night of the floral fete, she stood in the centre 



52 TAGHCONIC. 



of an admiring group, — a slight, aerial figure, but full 
of elastic life and vigor; her face transj^arent with 
changing light, and her eye overflowing with a flood of 
love and laughter. She was dressed with wonderful 
artistic skill ; for the life of me I could not imagine 
how she contrived to arrange her mist-like drapery so 
that she seemed always on the point of rising into air. 
I have since heard that it is no mystery among mantua- 
makers. Among the crowd of women, laden and over- 
laden with all kinds of flowers, native and exotic, Nell 
had only twisted in her hair a few snowy, star-shaped 
blossoms, — the spoil of a mountain excursion. Not a 
fold of her robes, not a tress on her head but seemed 
too spiritual for mortal touch. I have since learned 
that the artistes call this style of dress, d la Gahrielle. 
It is a triumph of genius ; but I would not advise any 
lady weighing over two hundred to try it. 

" Frank Leigh was conversing with my etherial 
cousin in a composed tone, and with a gaze of mere 
earthly admiration which I could not then have assumed 
for the world, although Nell and I had been playmates 
from infancy. I almost shuddered — so strangely had 
the fancy possessed me — when Frank took her hand, 
to lead her to the piano, lest she should indeed prove a 
spirit, and dissolve into thin air. 

" ' Ellen should be a gentleman's wife,' said a pretty 
and brilliant widow, by my side. 

" Wife ! so she was human. ' A gentleman's wife,' 
I repeated aloud, ' and pray what is a gentleman ? — 
and why should Ellen, more than another, be a gentle- 
man's wife ? ' 

" ' Why,' replied the widow, laughing, ^ a gentleman. 



FRANK LEIGH. 53 



in Ellen's vocabulary, is a man of elegant manners, 
with at least one hundred thousand dollars, and a dispo- 
sition to spend his income in graceful and fashionable 
follies. Ellen's expensive tastes demand such a hus- 
band — and I hope she may get him.' 

" ' Oh, now I am enlightened,' I said. 

" ' I am glad to hear it,' rejoined the widow, merrily. 
But, come with me out into the balcony, and I '11 let 
you into a secret or two.' 

" Of course, such an offer was not to be resisted ; 
and before we returned, I was put in possession of 
much recherche gossip, known only to the initiated. 

" There had come that year to the Springs, a fine 
looking young man, — generous, spirited, of captivating 
address, and great reputed wealth — Frank Leigh by 
name ; the same who was in attendance upon my cousin 
Ellen at the floral fete. Of course such a God-send 
was not to be neglected by anxious mothers, and daugh- 
ters no less anxious. Mrs. L., finding him clever, fond 
of sport, and prompt to forward all her gay schemes, 
had taken him up at once, and installed him her prime 
minister. Ellen, I need not say, was quite as ready to 
acknowledge his merits. 



" Frank was universally declared to be a ' sweet 
man,' in the ball-room and drawing-room ; but he was 
not a bit of a dandy ; there was nothing of the exclu- 
sively ladies' man about him, nothing effeminate in his 
habits. On the contrary, his tastes were eminently 
manly. He had yachted on the Atlantic coast, hunted 
moose in a Maine Winter, and even taken a run after 
buffaloes into the Sioux country. Here, among the 
quiet hills, his exuberant spirits found vent in a passion 



54 TAGHCONIC. 



for wild liorsemansliip. Jehu was a child to him, with 
the whip ; he was sure always to choose some unman- 
ageable foal of gunpowder, that nobody else would 
come within a rod of; men, even of strong nerves, 
were of oi)inion that safer pleasures existed than a seat 
beside Frank Leigh, on one of his break-neck drives ; 
and as for the women, not a soul of the dear creatures, 
who would have given their eyes to secure him for a 
partner at the last night's ball, could be persuaded to 
trust their ivory necks with him and his ' Lightning ' 
next morning. 

" To all this was one most remarkable exception — 
my brave cousin Nell, who had come out all at once a 
perfect Di. Vernon. Ah ! but it was an inspiriting 
sight, to see her mounted on her brown steed, leading 
her panting admirers an aimless race over fields, brakes, 
briers, and fences, till half the chase forswore all pur- 
suit of her, thereafter. 

" But Nelly's favorite seat was in Frank's light 
buggy, of which she enjoyed undisputed possession — 
her rivals thinking it a particularly 'bad eminence.' 
Of course she was the constant companion of our Jehu, 
and a fit one, as it looked. Travellers marvelled en- 
viously, as Frank's chariot dashed by them, to hear 
Nelly's clear, ringing laugh, or rattling song ; or even 
at times to see her slight figure braced back, her loose 
curls flying, and her little hands holding fast the 
' lines,' while she urged the foaming horses to yet more 
impossible speed ; — 

' Like a dream doth it seem, 
When I think of the past ; 
Up the road gallantly dashing along, 
Driving two noble steeds, square built and strong; 



COUSIN NELL. 65 



Firmly her little hands grasping the reins, 
Held them as firmly as lovers in chains.' 

" I think the echoes of her merry voice must linger 
yet among the old woods which skirt the Hancock road. 
Sure I am that the dwellers in the road-side farm 
houses yet remember Frank Leigh's dashing equijiage, 
and the gay couple with whom it used to fly by their 
doors, at such flashing speed. 

" Beside his equestrian fancies Frank was exceed- 
ingly prone to romantic excursions, and by the aid of 
the good natured Mrs. L., who was nothing loath, led us 
upon a hundred wild adventures among the hills, to the 
great detriment of patent leather and superfine broad- 
cloth. Here, too, Nell was the co-leader with the 
rattle-brain heir ; never a ramble ended until she had 
joined him in some mad-cap feat or another. 

"All this you may be sure gave ample room and 
verge enough for bitter tongues ; but the sage conclu- 
sion of one shrewd lady, that, *some folks could do 
what other folks could n't,' soon came to be in substance 
the universal sentiment. Indeed, with all Nelly's 
faults and follies, it was impossible, when you knew 
her, to think her capable of anything very wrong. 

" One opinion, at least, every body held, and that 
was, that she was just the girl to chai'm Frank Leigh — 
and that she had charmed him to some purpose. Every 
body but my friend the widow, who, while she admitted 
the boldness and vigor of Ellen's attack, had a doubt or 
two as to its success. ' Ellen,' said the widow, ' has a 
splendid genius for business, but very little experience. 
Do you not notice that Frank of late, has another com- 
panion sometimes on his rides ? ' 



56 TAGHCONIC. 



" ' What ! the timid and femininly delicate Miss P. ? ' 

" ' The same ; — and with what tender care he curbs 
his speed when she is his companion ? ' 

" ' It is very kind and considerate of him ; the jolts 
and racing in which Ellen delights, would be the death 
of Miss P. I am sure it is good in him.' 

" ' Oh, very ! And yet is it not possible that she who 
tames the steed may tame the master ? ' 

"I admitted the noteworthiness of the fact, but 
trusted to the genius and address of my fair kinswo- 
man for a successful issue of her Summer campaign. 
Indeed, as the season waned, her star seemed to rise 
yet higher into the ascendant, while she relaxed no 
whit of her zeal, but cut madder freaks, rode more 
daringly, was more than ever the constant companion 
of Frank, who, although he daily took a quiet drive 
with Miss P., seemed more than ever devoted to her 
dashing rival. Everybody said Frank had proposed, 
was about to propose, or at least was in honor bound to 
propose to my cousin. He was set down as certain of 
the fair hands which so gracefully reined in his fiery 
coursers. Only the widow shook her curls and Miss P. 
said nothing. 

" One bright morning in September, just before the 
close of the season, Ellen was sitting in the drawing 
room, surrounded as usual by a group of loungers, — 
among whom were Mr. Vinton, a gentleman of singu- 
larly reserved and quiet manners, and said to be very 
timid, — and a Miss Phoebe N., a young lady who, in 
spite of nose and eyes equally awry with her temper, 
was supposed to be about to seize the quiet gentleman, 
vi et armis. 



COUSIN NELL. 57 



" ' So Frank Leigh has taken us all by surprise, and 
married,' said some one, joining the group. 

"'Married!' 'No?' ' You do n't mean it.' 'How!' 
' "When ? ' 'To whom ? ' exclaimed a dozen voices at 
once, — the speakers, of course, fixing their eyes con- 
siderately upon Nell, except Miss N., who was enabled 
to turn only one of hers that way, but answered : 

" ' Oh, to that stupid Miss P. I saw them depart 
this morning.' 

" ' I am sure you would not so speak, if you knew 
her,' said Ellen, indignantly. ' On the contrary, she is 
a sweet, sensible, and witty girl.' 

" ' Rather too quiet for me,' mildly remarked the 
very quiet Mr. Vinton. 

" ' I do n't see why you should defend her,' snarled 
the amiable Phoebe to Ellen. ' She has carried off the 
prize we all assigned to you.' 

" ' To me ! ' exclaimed Ellen with real laughter and 
well affected surprise ; ' I am sure I am much obliged 
to you all. Frank is a noble fellow ; but do you know 
I should have an unconquerable aversion to being 
rivalled by dogs and horses ? — and of course ' Light- 
ning' and 'Ney' will hold equal sway in Frank's 
heart with his wife.' 

" ' But we,' began Miss N., with a malicious look — 

" ' But me no buts ! ' exclaimed Ellen, interrupting 
her ; ' I would sooner marry a cobbler than a horse- 
jockey, be he never so rich ! ' 

" Mr. Vinton looked radiantly happy ; Miss Phoebe 

darkeningly the reverse, for it was her ' one woe of 

life ' that her father had began his ascent to wealth in 

the respectable calling of a cobbler. Ellen saw where 

5 



58 TAGHCONIC. 



her shot hit, and then cast a penetratmg glance at Yin- 
ton, in whose face she read more than she had sus- 
pected." 

Here the bachelor paused for breath. "And so," 
said I, " Miss Ellen lost her Summer's work." 

" Not at all," he replied resuming ; " you shall hear. 
Frank Leigh did not choose to fall in love with a 
woman who rivalled him in the accomplishments of 
which he was most proud. Even so sensible a fellow 
as he had a spice of human vanity, — quite enough to 
cause him to prefer Miss P., who admired his daring 
feats, to Nelly, who demanded that he should admire 
hers, and showed, moreover, to all the world that they 
were not beyond the attainment of a very slight-framed 
woman. Besides, he could too readily understand all 
that Nell felt, said, and did ; it is not the near view 
which charms. 

" Poor Vinton, however, looking on from a distance, 
became every day more enamoured ; — the qualities 
which Ellen displayed proved so much the more fascin- 
ating from their very strangeness to his own nature. 
But it is in vain to philosophize about these matters ; 
Vinton, like many a sensible fellow before and since, 
contrived to get hopelessly into the meshes before he 
thought of asking how ; and the moment he saw the 
field clear, he resolved to occupy the vacant lovership. 

" Our light-hearted Ariadne I suspect was secretly 
piqued at her desertion ; at all events, she gave the 
new lover a world of encouragement. Indeed, so rap- 
idly did affairs advance, that the same afternoon Mr. 
Vinton, in a tremor of fear, made a formal proposal, — 
and was at once accepted. Still more to his joy, Ellen 



THE CONCLUSION. 59 



consented — if Miss Phoebe is to be believed, proposed — 
that the union should take place that same evening; that 
soon after the demolition of her hopes, Ellen reached 
their consummation, and was a ' gentleman's wife.' " 

" A queer wooing," I said, when the bachelor had 
concluded. " Was the result happy ? " 

" Why, the chances were rather against it," he re- 
plied ; " but fate often treats us better than we would 
ourselves. The result, I believe, was happy for both." 

"And how about the widow and yourself?" 

"Is not that the moon rising yonder?" said the 
bachelor. 



CHAPTER VI* 



BERRY POND. 



L , March 22, 1852. 

My Dear S. : — 

It is now many months since I promised you 
an account of a ramble over one of your glorious moun- 
tains ; and through all these changing moons my prom- 
ise is unredeemed. 

You may have forgotten it, — have at any rate des- 
paired of its fulfilment. And i:)erhaps, if I had re- 
mained in P., where the heaven-clad hills stand round 
about, " as the mountains are round about Jerusalem," 
in the very presence of their ennobling majesty, I had 
been too much awed for familiar description, too much 
delighted for voluble utterance. 

But here, with nothing in all the tame horizon but 
dead sand plains, or faintly swelling hills, still more 
lifeless in their weak aspiring; here, where nothing, 
not even the church spires, are so near heaven as the 
manufactory chimnies, — the awe-inspiring sjDell of the 
mountains is broken, while their blue and cloud-like 
summits, looming over the length of a state in the soft 
mirage of memory, look lovelier, holier than ever. 

* I am indebted for this Chapter to tlie kindness of a much esteemed and 
very clever friend. 



BERRY POND. 61 



As a votary, admitted to a costly shrine, stands 
abashed, and fears to wake the sacred echoes with his 
unhallowed voice, yet finds in its splendor and its 
solemn images unfailing themes of story to eager lis- 
teners around his humble fire-side, — so I, an exile 
from the hills I love so well, may exchange my awe 
struck silence for rapturous speech, and grow garrulous 
over scenes that once filled me with unutterable pleasure. 

It was on a bright, still morning in the painted Au- 
tumn, that I started with a friend for Berry Pond. 
Aye, that 's the name. " I seek no purfled prettiness 
of phrase," I accept no sickly appellation, borrowed 
from other scenes, which is thought to sound romantic 
because unfamiliar, and which was originally noble 
only because simple and unaffected. 

Berry Pond ! The name falls sweetly on the ear, 
and fills the mind with images of cool and crystal 
waters, and green and sloping shores. It is ringing 
with the silver ripple of the mountain tarn ; it is redo- 
lent of wild flowers, and sweet with pulpy fruits. 

Berry Pond, however, does not derive its name from 
the strawberries, the raspberries, the blackberries, and 
the wintergreen berries, which, by their abundance in 
its vicinity would justify the appellation ; but from an 
obscure, stout-hearted man, who once dwelt upon its 
border, and wrung subsistence for a large family of 
girls out of the margin of its rocky chalice. Honor to 
him ! and let this silver tablet, inscribed with his name, 
perpetuate his memory as long as English is spoken on 
the soil he trod ! 

We pursued our way, in the chill but serene Novem- 
ber morning, towards the base of Hancock Mountain, 
6* 



62 TAGHCONIC. 



near whose summit lay the object of our journey. Our 
path Avas through obscure bye-roads, lined with the 
dwellings of an industrious and frugal people, standing 
amid clustering orchards, as if the venerable trees took 
solemn interest in the drama going on within, and were 
gathered there to witness it. 

My companion was born in one of these abodes, and 
had passed his life to its high meridian among them ; 
and his memory overflowed with story and incident of 
merry, or serious, or sad adventure, which these quiet 
looking homes had seen. 

A right pleasant companion, this friend of mine, with 
his moving memories. An unaffected love of nature, 
and a quick i^erception of her beauty and her grandeur, 
joined to a warm heart and a lively sympathy with all 
that told of human joy or sorrow, shone unconsciously 
in his simple language and expressive face. It was 
almost as well to be with him as to be alone with one's 
imagination and the spirits of earth and sky ; and more 
cannot be said of mortal friend. 

Diverging at last from the highway, we entered 
through rustic bars upon the private road that winds up 
the mountain. For a short distance we drove over a 
level interval, at the mouth of the gorge through which 
we were to pass ; and here we came upon the site of a 
dwelling, now marked only by the grass-grown cellar, 
and the mossy and unfruitful trees that seemed to feel 
alike the loss of human sympathy and human care. 

These melancholy mourners around a darkened 
hearth-stone, creatures of civilization as they were, 
appeared incapable of receiving the quickening influ- 
ence of sun and dew direct from the hand of God, like 



BERRY POND. 63 



the savage trees that waved their outspread arms above 
them, and waiting in vain for man's accustomed care, 
to have pined away in moody sorrow. 

Quickly passing this mournful spot, we entered the 
ravine, down which a brooklet brawled, and began to 
ascend the mountain by a narrow but excellent road, 
cut with great labor in the steep hill side. Built to 
bring down the timber from the summit, it seemed the 
approach of an indomitable enemy to assault those 
forest chieftains in their mountain fastness. It is in- 
deed a noble work, and is eloquent of the determina- 
tion and energy of its builder. 

When we began our ascent, the burn was prattling 
away in familiar accents close at hand. But rising 
more rapidly than the bed of the channel, the tops of 
stately trees rooted by the brook-side were soon waving 
beneath us ; and the mingling murmur of the leaves 
and stream seemed the audible prayer of Nature. 

Above us towered the solemn mountain ; and the 
lonely trees which the ruthless axe had spared, subdued 
and chastened by bereavement, pointed calmly to the 
sky, and with grave and reverend gesture beckoned us 
ever upward ; while the thoughtless dryads that cov- 
ered the shorn mountain with a luxurious undergrowth, 
sported jauntily their gay cashmeres of the latest Au- 
tumn style; and with modest shade, and glancing 
sheen, and merry, tinkling music, invited pause and 
dalliance. 

But upward we ever went, along the steadfast road, 
till on the one hand the rivulet again appeared close by 
our side, having climbed the steepest part of the gorge 
to overtake us, and looking faint and weary with the 



64 TAGHCONIC. 



effort ; and on the other the reposing mountain stretched 
away with gentle and inviting slope, — like the easy 
ascent of the good man's path, after the steep and toil- 
some struggle of youth is over. 

Leaving our panting horse under a spreading beech, 
we turned aside from the road, and walked a quarter 
of a mile to the pond. The undulating ground over 
which we went, now rugged with coarse ferns and brist- 
ling with wild and worthless shrubs, was once a smooth 
shorn meadow ; and all these silent fields, untended 
and unfenced, once owned a blest allegiance to the arm 
of toil, and ministered to human happiness. Here 
rustic maidens spread the new mown grass, and hither 
rustic wooers came to spend the Summer holiday. Yon- 
der the serried rows of corn-hills, plainly hinted through 
the faded grass, tell where the last harvest left its stub- 
ble, unmolested by the plough. There, where that 
little mound swells gently from the valley, the sorrow- 
ing apple trees point out the spot where dwelt a de- 
parted household. 

Like the Assyrian king turned into the desolate 
fields ; bearded with hoary moss, and shaggy with un- 
kemped sprays, and gnarled and knotty with dead and 
decaying boughs, they utter a mournful warning against 
that rooted grief that seeks refuge in seclusion and 
" lures us from society where we are safe, to snare us 
in the solitary desert." 

Yet there is something touching in the constancy of 
these old trees, so unlike the fickle attachments of men. 
Surely, the apple tree, and not the willow, should be 
the emblem of enduring sorrow. 

Musing thus, we silently moved onwards, till, on 



BERRY POND. 65 



reaching the summit of a ridge, the lakelet burst upon 
our vision, almost beneath our feet. 

To me — a little in advance of my companion — it 
was not at first comprehended ; but, taking the color of 
my reverie, it seemed another Heaven revealed beneath 
the sod, as when I looked through tears into an open 
grave, and saw my Heaven there. 

But an exclamation of delight at my elbow, brought 
out the object of my vision, from the profound into 
which I had been gazing to the glassy surface, and the 
heaven beyond the sphere became a crystal lake. 

Nothing can exceed the beauty of this pond. Its 
shores, for a narrow interval, slope gently towards it, 
and then fall steeply away like the sides of a moulded 
urn. Its margin is sometimes a beach of silvery sand 
strewn with blocks of snowy quartz, and delicate, 
fibrous looking mica ; again grassy and green, even 
now, to the water's edge ; and yet again fringed with 
long eyelashes of birch and hazle trees, that dreamily 
gaze at their reflection in the mirror. 

Its waters are clear and cool, and pleasant to the 
taste ; and with the breathing sky, robed in the candid 
surplice of the clouds, bending in solemn benediction 
over it, it seemed the sacramental chalice of nature, 
and its crystal water, infused with Heaven's own form 
and hue, seemed changed by a real transubstantiation 
into the mystic life-blood of the Universe. 

We had no need of language, for all tliat the scene 
could tell was whispered to the heart of each ; so we 
strolled apart, and worshipped and enjoyed in silence. 

Here was no meddling priest to thrust his specula- 
tive creed between me and my love to Heaven, and 



66 TAGHCONIC. 



reclining in oriental mood upon a mossy bank, which, 
thick-spread with fragrant wintergreen, served at once 
as couch and table, and incense altar, I lifted my heart 
to God for absolution and blessing, and communed un- 
forbidden. 

Oh ! not altogether unprofitable these secret musings 
in the cloisters of the great cathedral. By them 
we learn to feel that God liveth not alone in history 
and tradition, but in Nature also, and the world ; that 
He speaketh not alone in the Sinai-tones of his inspira- 
tion, but audibly, too, in the voices of his winds and 
woods ; that, indeed, " He is not the God of the dead, 
but of the living." 

The long, chill shadows of the low trees creeping 
over me, admonished me to rise, and walking on until I 
had made the circuit of the pond, I joined my friend 
who had preceded me, and after pausing awhile to look 
at the cloud-like blue of the distant Kaatskills, the burly 
strength of the nearer Taghconic, and the wide pano- 
rama of hill and vale that spread between, all robed 
with the richest colors of the iris, and bathed in the 
rich, palpable light of the Indian Summer, that filled 
the valleys to the mountain tops with molten topaz, we 
turned us from the glory ere yet it had declined, and 
homeward wound our thoughtful way. 

The sun had set when we reached the village, and 
the threadbare earth stood shivering in the cold and 
dark, like an aged gentleman suddenly reduced from 
afiluence to want. But from my friend's door, as I 
paused a moment to see him enter, there came a burst 
of mingled light and warmth, like the sortie of a garri- 



BERRY POND. 67 



son to cover the entrance of a friend, and beat back the 
beleaguring forces of the night. 

O ye to whom the blessed haven of home opens 
wide its friendly gates to shelter you from the Autumn 
and the night, thank God the giver for all his blessings, 
but chiefly for this ; and for the rest of us, patience, 
patience and courage ! There shall be a haven for 
us also. 

Yours, Truly, 

H. 



CHAPTER VII. 

THE wizard's glen. 

A FOUR miles' drive from our village brings the ex- 
cursionist to a deep gorge, now called tlie " Gulf," but 
known in the earlier and less sceptical days of the 
settlement as the " Wizard's Glen." It is the wildest 
scene in our immediate neighborhood. A narrow val- 
ley is enclosed by steep hills, covered far up their sides 
with the huge rectangular flint rocks which mark this 
whole mountain range. You see them scattered every 
where, from Greylock to Taghconic ; but nowhere else 
— unless, perhaps, at Icy Glen — piled up in such 
magnificent and chaotic profusion. It is as though an 
angry Jove had here thrown down some impious wall 
of the Heaven-defying Titans. Block lies heaped upon 
block, squared and bevelled, as if by more than mortal 
art, for of such adamantine hardness are they, that never 
hand nor implement of man could carve them into 
symmetry. 

In their desolation they seemed charmed to ever- 
lasting changelessness ; storm and sunshine leave few 
traces upon them ; the trickling stream wears no chan- 
nel in their obdurate surface ; only a falling thunderbolt 
sometimes splinters an uplifted crag, and marks its 
course by a scar of more livid whiteness. No flower 



wizard's glen. 69 



springs from, no creeping plant clings to them for sup- 
port, save when the rare Herb Robert would fain cheer 
them with his tiny blossom ; or some starveling lichen 
strives to shroud the livid ghastliness of their hues. 

It is a stern featured place ; and yet of a warm 
Summer afternoon, one — no, not one, it is too intensely 
sombre for that — but a party can pass a merry hour 
there, in the cool depths of the ravine. There are 
some books too, written in a spirit akin to the fantastic 
and demoniac grandeur of the place, which can be 
read there with a double zest. Perched between the 
double angles of a cleft boulder, I once keenly enjoyed 
some scenes in " Faust." " Manfred " would not be 
out of place there, nor would some parts of " Festus." 

But the best is, to mark how the most humanly 
merry laughter and the gentlest of gentle voices catch 
a fiendish echo from the rocky hollows. There is 
diablerie in the very air ; the fairest form I ever knew, 
as it rose from behind one of those enchanted rocks, 
looked weird as Lilitli, the first wife of Adam. He- 
cate herself could not have emerged from Hades with 
half the infernal grace and beauty; I am sure the 
place is bewitched. 

Tradition indeed says that, before the decay of the 
native tribes, — of whom a scanty remnant were found 
by the white man in the valley of the Housatonic, — 
this used to be a favorite haunt of the Indian Priests, 
or Wizards. Here, it was said, they wrought their 
hellish incantations, and with horrible rites offered up 
human sacrifices to Ho-bo-mock-o, the Spirit of Evil. 
One broad, square rock, which chanced to stand alone 
in the midst of a conveniently clear space, had the 
6 



70 TAGHCONIC. 



credit of being the Devil's altar-stone. Some crimson 
stains marked its uj)per surface, upon which the earlier 
settlers could not look without a shudder. They were 
believed to come from the blood of frequent victims, — 
although, now-a-days, a sceptic with no analysis at all 
would find little difficulty in resolving them into " traces 
of iron ore." For my part, until the analysis is made, 
I hold fast to the older and better opinion of those who 
believed that around this ensanguined shrine a spectral 
crew of savage wizards nightly reenacted the revolting 
orgies of the past. 

I met, not long since, an old man of ninety Winters, 
— perhaps the last believer in their superstitions. He 
had heard the story of the shadowy sacrifices from an 
eye-witness, and related it with a credulous simplicity 
very difiicult to gainsay. 

Not far from the year 1770, (as he said,) one John 
Chamberlain, a brave man and a mighty hunter, of 
Ashuelot, (now Dalton,) at the close of a hard day's 
chase, overtook and slew a deer, somewhere within the 
Wizard's Glen. While he was dressing his quarry, a 
terrific storm of thunder, lightning, and hail arose, — 
as Chamberlain averred, with supernatural celerity, 
as such often seem to do among the mountains. A 
thunder-storm, even in the ordinary course, is not just 
the thing to be coVeted in this place, by the hardiest 
deer slayer ; but come what will, he must make the 
best of it. Seeking out, therefore, a spot where the 
rocks were piled one upon another, with cavernous 
recesses that formed a sort of natural caravansary be- 
neath, he drew his deer under one boulder and en- 
sconced himself snugly under the shelter of another. 



HIS SATANIC MAJESTY. 71 

Thus protected, he betook himself to such slumbers 
as he might get, which turned out to be not the most 
peaceful. The thunder crashed, the lightning glared 
and the wind howled in a manner which seemed to our 
poor John altogether demoniacal. Sleep, in such a 
hurly-burly of the elements, was out of the question ; 
so, raising himself up he looked out among the rocks, 
as he could very well do by the aid of the scarcely 
intermittent lightning. 

You may be sure that, with all his courage, our 
hunter was not quite pleased to find himself in full 
view of the Devil's altar-stone. It was an ugly predic- 
ament, to say the least of it ; but there was no help in 
the case, and he had only to make the best he could of 
this also, which turned out to be bad enough again. 
His eyes once fixed upon it, the haunted spot kept them 
riveted by a terrible fascination, while Chamberlain 
reflected upon his position in a state of mind which was 
doubtless far enough from that of philosophic calmness. 

Very soon, however, his reflections were interrupted 
by a wilder rush of the storm, and a yet broader and 
more vivid flash of lightning, which illumined the whole 
valley and revealed the horned Devil himself, seated 
upon a broken crag and clothed in all the recognised 
paraphernalia of his royalty. Chamberlain thought 
liim a very Indiany-looking devil indeed, which rather 
pleased him afterwards to tell, for he was no lover of 
the Indian race. 

This was apparently a gala night with Satan, although 
none of the guests were yet arrived. He was not now 
going to battle or to work, but rather to hold a royal 
drawing-room, by way of enjoying himself and receiv- 



72 TAGHCONIC. 



ing homage. His Sable Majesty is well aware that 
they who would maintain authority must never too 
much relax their dignity ; so, upon this occasion he sat 
enthroned with a very commanding and royal grace, 
while the arrowy lightnings shot in circles round his 
head, — very much, I judge, as you may have seen the 
swallows dart and soar of a Summer evening, around 
an old church steeple. 

His Majesty had not long to wait for his loving 
lieges, for suddenly from the darkness a huge, gaunt- 
framed wizard leaped out and mounted the altar-stone. 
If Chamberlain has not painted him blacker than he 
deserves, this High Priest of Satan was a most villain- 
ous-looking rascal. His raw-boned and ghastly visage 
was painted in most blood-thirsty ugliness ; scalps, drip- 
ping with fresh blood, hung around his body in festoons ; 
on his own scull, by way of scalp lock, burned a lam- 
bent blue flame ; his distended veins shone through the 
bright copper-colored skin as if they were filled with 
molten fire for blood — and, as for his eyes, they glowed 
with a fiercer light than those of the arch fiend himself; 
from whence Chamberlain maintained that an Indian 
Priest was at least one degree more devilish than the 
Devil himself. 

The present was evidently a very potent magician, 
for at his call a throng of ghastly and horrible phan- 
toms came pouring in from every nook and cranny of 
the valley — each with a shadowy tomahawk and a 
torch, which did not burn with the honest and ruddy 
glare of pitch pine, but with a blue color and sulphur- 
ous odor, that revealed unmistakeably at what fire they 
had been lighted. • 



THE INDIAN MAIDEN. 73 

Every ghost, as lie came in, made a profound obeis- 
ance to the rock throned Satan, and then took his place 
in the circle around the altar-stone. By and bye, the 
Chief Priest set up a wild, howling chant, and away 
went the whole rabble rout, yelHng and rushing round 
the altar in a mad, galloping sort of a dance, in which 
they lifted their feet all the while, as if treading upon 
burning coals or red-hot iron — a step which is only 
learned in the dancing-schools down below. Many 
more such diabolical antics they cut, which, as they 
would neither be profitable by way of example or 
warning, it does not matter to tell. 

At last they paused, and Chamberlain thought it 
about time for them to take themselves off; but they 
were far enough from that. On the contrary, two bar- 
barous looking phantoms — who might in life have been 
familiars to a savage inquisition — presented themselves, 
leading between them a beautiful Indian maiden, robed 
only in her own long, black hair. At another moment 
the beholder might have admired her graceful propor- 
tions and regular features, — as he did when he after- 
wards remembered them, — but now his senses were 
too much absorbed by horror. Not a word the poor 
girl spoke, but, stupified and silent, looked round from 
one unrelenting face to another, as if at a loss to com- 
prehend what it all meant. Poor girl ! she soon knew ; 
for one of the familiars, seizing her rudely around the 
waist, placed her upon the altar-stone, before the priest. 
Then she shrieked — so wildly that the hunter declared 
the echo never ceased ringing in his ears to his dying 
day; — what part she had to perform then was no 
longer doubtful. But she shrieked not again nor spoke, 
6* 



74 TAGHCONIC. 



— only looked up into the fiery eyes of the priest so 
piteously that it seemed his heart should have melted, 
had it been formed even of flint like the stone on which 
he stood ; but it had been hardened in more infernal 
fires. 

So he took up his demoniac howl again, and went 
capering madly around the maiden. Then, suddenly 
pausing before her, he raised his hatchet and the whole 
phantom circle gathered closer around him, as if to 
gloat more nearly over their victim's pangs. It seemed 
the sacrifice was about to be consummated ; but as the 
weapon was raised, the maiden's eyes (averted from it) 
met those of Chamberlain. The kind-hearted hunter, 
in whom compassion had overcome fear, could no longer 
restrain himself; so, taking out his Bible, he pronounced 
the great Name, — and with a terrific crash of the 
elements the whole scene vanished, leaving him in 
impenetrable darkness, — for although the lightnings 
ceased, as if they had accompanied their master in his 
flight, yet the rain fell faster than ever. 

When the morning came. Chamberlain would have 
taken it all for a dream, for, exhausted with fatigue 
and excitement, he had fallen into a deep sleep ; but 
he found that the wizards, unable to harm him, while 
protected by the holy volume, had revenged themselves 
by stealing his deer, and perhaps giving it to their 
familiars, the bears — for there were bears in those 
days — so that there can be no manner of doubt as to 
the truth and accuracy of Chamberlain's story. 

There is many another legend of this haunted dell ; 
as for this, I hope you place the same implicit confi- 
dence in it which my old informant did. 



THE GORGE BY NIGHT. 75 

Passing through the gorge very late, one piercing 
cold Winter night, the place looked very weird to me. 
The frozen air was still as death ; the white moonlight 
was reflected from the snow, as I fancied, with more of 
pallor than of brightness, and I heard a shriek which I 
tried to believe came from the maiden victim. But it 
may have been the scream of some far-off locomotive. 
Confound those " resonant steam eagles ! " — there 's 
never a shriek, from Cape Cod to the Taghconics — 
though with the ghostliest ring to it — but they get the 
credit. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

OUR RURAL CEMETERY. 

An eye, observant of such things, finds few studies 
more delicately curious than to watch those customs 
which are rapidly, but almost imperceptibly, clustering 
to form our national character. The rude and chaotic 
elements seem, even while we look upon them, to 
become conscious of order's laws, and to crystalize 
around the nucleus of puritanic vigor into the shapely 
and lustrous gem. Among these customs, not the least 
purely beautiful is that of the consecration of rural 
cemeteries in peaceful and retired spots, — where the 
dead may find undisturbed repose, and the hving may 
weep over them, far removed from the noisy clang of 
jarring throngs. There Nature and Ai't combine to 
dissociate from Death, his long accustomed horrors ; 
and there, though he still reign King of Terrors, he is 
content to wear, not his iron crown, but his chajDlet of 
the poplar leaf — dark indeed without, but silver white 
within. 

Are not our American morals of the grave — where 
they have developed themselves in their highest per- 
fection — beautiful and peculiar ? Think how many of 
the purest elements from other times and other nations 
have combined to form them ! The Egyptian's sacred 



OUR RURAL CEMETERY. 77 

reverence for the ruined palace of the soul ; the Gre- 
cian's graceful celebration in song and sculpture ; the 
Frenchman's clinging, passionate love for the perishing 
body ; and overruling and pervading all, our fathers' 
stern but hopeful faith that the immortal soul stays not 
nor lingers, on its way from Earth, in any retreat — 
however lovely and however consecrated. After all, it 
is for the living, and not the dead, that we set apart 
our holy grounds. 

Such were some of the thoughts which passed over 
me, as I went out to-day to witness the consecration of 
our Rural Cemetery. Nor could I refrain from some 
sad reminiscences of one soft and balmy day, many 
years ago, when, with a party of youthful friends I 
went out to unite with the people of my far off native 
city, in ceremonies like those which I to-day have wit- 
nessed among strangers. It was one of those occasions 
to which we look back as to a " far off isle in the stormy 
sea of years ; " one of those land-marks by which we 
determine how far we have advanced towards the far- 
ther shore. 

More than half the little group who were with me 
that Summer day, have fallen in their youth, and are 
laid to sleep among the dim woods of that oak crowned 
hill, which we then dedicated to peace and consecrated 
by the sweetly significant name of " Mount Hope." 
Upon how many of those who remain does a painful 
sense of loneliness weigh, until they almost wish that 
they too had their home in its bosom. 

As to-day I looked among the crowd who had col- 
lected at the new cemetery, the countenance of a fair 
girl, known to me only by name, recalled, as it had 



78 TAGHCONIC. 



often done before, tlie memory of another grandly sol- 
emn burial place, on the distant plains of Pegepscot, 
surrounded by dark and lofty woods, — 

"Where the solemn night wind marches 
Through the pine's cathedral arches 
Solemnly." 

It was there that one bearing the same name, and in 
whose veins flowed the same blood, was long ago laid 
in youth to rest. Around her tomb rise the monuments 
of divines, and scholars, and statesmen ; and the more 
touching memorials of vanished youth and beauty clus- 
ter near ; but none have such a fascination for the lin- 
gerer as the white tablet on which is inscribed the name 
and age of the President's daughter. How often will 
he lean over that sepulchral marble and strive to depict 
to his fancy the manner and fashion of the beautiful 
who sleeps so unconsciously below. 

The solemn ceremonies of to-day, thus half sadly, half 
pleasantly recalled other days in those distant cemeteries. 
In the clear sunshine of October, we assembled by 
thousands, — young men and maidens, old men and 
children, — on a grove shaded knoll, surrounded by 
lawns and lake, wood and stream, to be hereafter more 
emphatically than others — 

" the solemn decorations all 
Of the great tomh of man. ' ' 

"We had come in sadness, although not in sorrow. 
Nothing impaired the becoming solemnity of the scene ; 
and when the full swell of the chorals had ceased, when 
the sacred words of Scripture were read and the conse- 



OUR RURAL CEMETERY. 79 

crating prayer was said, all shared the emotions of the 
orator as he began : " Have we been persuaded — an 
assembly of the living — to look upon the very ground 
where we may sleep ? Impelled by a desire to do 
honor to the dead, have we come within the precincts 
of a spot where every shadow seems now to deepen, 
and where the mountains point so significantly to the 
skies ? " 

Few things of the kind are so classically and chris- 
tianly beautiful as was this entire Address, by Rev. 
Mr. Neill, of Lenox — one of our finest scholars and 
most eloquent divines. 

Then followed, the Poem, by Oliver Wendell 
Holmes, — of which I cannot resist the temptation to 
copy a great part. None can feel an adequate admi- 
ration for the poetry of Dr. Holmes, unless they hear 
it from his own lips. But read : — 



" Angel of Death ! Extend thy silent reign ! 
Stretch thy dark sceptre o'er this new domain ! 
No sable car along the winding road 
Has borne to earth its unresisting load; 
No sudden mound has risen yet to show 
Where the pale slumberer folds his arms below; 
No marble gleams to bid his memory live 
In the brief lines that hurrying Time can give ; 
Yet, O Destroyer I From thy shrouded throne 
Look on our gift; this realm is all thine own ! 

" Fair is the scene ; its sweetness oft beguiled 
From their dim paths the children of the wild ; 
The dark-haired maiden loved its grassy dells, 
The feathered warrior claimed its wooded swells, 
Still on its slopes the ploughman's ridges show 
The pointed flints that left his fatal bow, 
Chipped with rough art and slow barbarian toil,— 
Last of his wrecks that strews the alien soil I 

" Here spread the fields that waved their ripened store 
Till the brown arms of Labor held no more ; 



80 TAGHCONIC. 



The scythe's broad meadow with its dusky blash ; 

The sickle's harvest with its velvet flush ; 

The green-haired maize, her silken tresses laid, 

In soft luxuriance, on her harsh brocade ; 

The gourd that swells beneath her tossing plume ; 

The coarser wheat that rolls in lakes of bloom,— 

Its coral stems and milk-white flowers alive 

With the wide murmurs of the scattered hive ; 

The glossy apple with the pencilled streak 

Of morning painted on its southern cheek ; 

The pear's long necklace strung with golden drops, 

Arched, like the banyan, o'er its hasty props; 

The humble roots that paid the laborer's care 

With the cheap luxuries wealth consents to spare ; 

The healing herbs whose virtues could not save 

The hand that reared them from the neighboring grave. 

" Yet all its varied charms, forever free 
From task and tribute. Labor yields to thee ; 
No more when April sheds her fitful rain 
The sower's hand shall cast its flying grain ; 
No more when Autumn strews the flaming leaves 
The reaper's band shall gird its yellow sheaves ; 
For thee alike the circling seasons flow 
Till the first blossoms heave the latest snow. 
In the stiff" clod below the whirling drifts, 
In the loose soil the springing herbage lifts, 
In the hot dust beneath the parching weeds 
Life's wilting flower shall drop its shrivelled seeds ; 
Its germ entranced in thy unbreathing sleep 
Till what thou sowest mightier angels reap I 

" Spirit of Beauty ! Let thy graces blend 
With loveliest Xature all that Art can lend. 
Come from the bowers where Summer's life-blood flows 
Through the red lips of June's half open rose. 
Dressed in bright hues, the loving sunshine's dower; 
For tranquil Nature owns no mourning flower. 

Come from the forest where the beech's screen 
Bars the fierce noonbeam with its flakes of green ; 
Stay the rude axe that bares the shadowy plains. 
Staunch the deep wound that dries the maple's veins. 

Come with the stream whose silver-braided rills 
Fling their unclasping bracelets from the hills, 
Till in one gleam, beneath the forest's wings. 
Melts the white glitter of a hundred springs. 

Come from the steeps where look majestic forth 
From their twin thrones the Giants of the North — 
On the huge shapes that crouching at their knees. 
Stretch their broad shoulders, rough with shaggy trees. 



DR. HOLMES'S POEM. 81 



Through the wide waste of ether, not ia vain 
Their softened gaze shall reach our distant plain ; 
There, while the mourner turns his aching eyes 
On the blue mounds that print the bluer skies, 
Nature shall whisper that the fading view 
Of mightiest grief may wear a heavenly hue." 

With this let us close our notes of this day of high 
but melancholy pleasure. 



CHAPTER IX. 

AN HOUR IN OUR CEMETERY BEING BRIEF 

RECORDS OF CONVERSATION. 

" I could -wish to have the shadow of Death upon me till my soul had truly 
and rightly felt it," 

MorNTFORD. 

One stilly Sabbath evening, as tbe full splendor of 
the harvest moon was following hard upon the retiring 
gleams of a cloudless sunset, we found ourselves at 
the gate of our new cemetery. It was not long since, 
with admiring thousands, we had there listened to the 
memorable eloquence and poetry which had consecrated 
it to Peace ; but the crowd had gone their way, and the 
place was very solitary now in its loveliness. It was 
as though the Peace which had been invoked descended 
visibly upon the sacred grove. 

" All sounds were hushed — of labor or of mirth." 

Only, consonant with the hour and the place, the monot- 
onous tolling of a distant bell, and the low, lulling mur- 
mur of the Housatonic soothed the ear and invited us 
within the leafy sanctuary. We entered. 

Edward Brancton. "We have been often here, 
Godfrey, and yet to-night how novel seems the famiHar 
scene. With what sharpness of pencilling is drawn 



THE CEMETERY. 83 



this net work shadow of bough and leaf; and that single 
oak by the lakelet's side, how finely it stands out from 
its dark back-ground ! 

Godfrey Greylock. Yes ; and how perfectly the 
unruffled water mirrors back its undistorted image ! 
The image is fairer than the substance. 

Edward. There is deeper gloom, too, under those 
sombre hemlocks ; and see ! up yonder knoll, how the 
ghostly forms of the sheeted birch start out upon us 
from the wood ; — 



" Nothing but doth suffer a night change, 
Into something rich and strange." 



Such a change as our fathers' fancied came over the 
wight, who, on a weird night like this, strayed into the 
charmed circle of the fairy folk. Oh, what a fit realm 
were this for fairy queen ! I am not sure that it is not 
enchanted ground. 

Godfrey. Alas, this place shall bear the record of 
sadder mutations than those of superstitious fancy or 
of changing lights. They who shall hereafter tread 
these avenues will find food for more melancholy, per- 
haps more profitable meditations than ours. 

Edward. Yet hath the new tomb, wherein was 
never man laid, its own peculiar lesson. There is a 
singular charm for me in our graveless cemetery — this 
virgin bride of Death. 

Godfrey. Doubtless it is well for us to be here. 
We do well to contemplate anything upon which the 
shadow of Death hath fallen. Whatever that dark 
spirit touches he invests with a portion of his own sub- 
lime terrors ; and after the unapproachable One, where 



84 TAGHCONIC. 



shall we look for such awful majesty ! It is my passion 
to meditate upon him where the garish light of life 
maintains no contests with his congenial shades. 

Edward. I, now, on the contrary, would bid the 
most cheerful light of day, or such a silver radiance as 
this, fall upon the tomb I love ; I cannot grudge a por- 
tion of the common sunshine to paint the daisy that 
grows above the dead. Your gloomy mould-collecting 
cypress and yew are not for me. Let us plant about 
the resting places of our departed the feathery elm, the 
maple, and the silver-leafed poplar. Divest the tyran 
of your imagination of his horror-striking sceptre ; he 
reigns only by your submission. 

Godfrey. It is in vain. Christianise or stoicise as 
we will, the last change — the mysterious soul parting 
— remains the great terror of our humanity. "Why 
should we wish it otherwise ? The soul trembles with 
awe, as it expands to receive the impression of some 
overpowering object of sense — the Alps, the ocean, 
or St. Peter's dome. Should it not thrill at the 
passage from the little known to the boundless un- 
known ? 

Edward. And yet, by Faith, martyrs and dying 
saints have entered upon that mysterious path with 
smiles and songs of triumph. 

Godfrey. And so by their sort of faith have 
pagans and infidels ; but so could not I. Do you think 
that Columbus smiled, when, in the morning's grey, he 
beheld, dim and indistinct, the reality of a life's long 
dream? Neither should you, to behold, in the dim 
light of Death, the eternal shore, — although you knew 
it to be the heavenly goal of a life's best hopes. Be 



DEATH. 85 

assured we make too lightly of this matter when we 
speak of crowning the majesty of Death with roses. 
There is mockery in it and treason, that I, for one, will 
not plot against the King of Terrors. 

Edward. Yet surely you would not set up a skel- 
eton image for us to worship ! 

Godfrey. By no means. Why personify Death at 
all ? Let us leave him rather as does Milton — a vast, 
awful, but undefined image, which the soul may con- 
template in varying but ever reverential mood. "We 
wrongly strive to make Death familiar to our thought. 

Edward. There can be no irreverence or profana- 
tion in holding frequent and familiar converse with 
Death, since He — only whose stern minister the dark 
angel is — invites us to commune with Himself as with 
a friend. 

Godfrey. The oft communion is well ; the familiar, 
sentimental talk of Death, I deem to be ill, unreal, 
meaningless, not to endure when the reality comes ; a 
trick to soothe the terrors of a distant contemplation of 
Death, which will fail us altogether at the last, in the 
near dread presence. We presume too much on the 
communion we are permitted to hold with our Maker. 
I have heard pious, good men address the Ruler of the 
Universe in flippant tones, and even with advice — 
such as they would not dare address to the merest vil- 
lage potentate. Let us think of Him with reverence, 
as our Creator, our King, our Judge; with greater 
trembling as our Father and Friend. Let us speak of 
Him with profoundest awe, as the Most High God, — 
fearful in praises, doing wonders ; as did the royal 
7* 



86 TAGHCONIC. 



Psalmist, bowing before him with the devotion of the 
lowliest subject. 

Edward. With the affection of a child for a pa- 
rent as well. 

Godfrey. Yes, with that filial affection of the Ori- 
entals — more informed with awe than the homage of 
the most abject slave of the most iron despotism. 

Edward. Well, let these cheerful groves and glades 
answer you. This lake, which they have called by the 
name of " St. John the Beloved ; " — this oak, which 
stands here pointing constantly to Heaven. 

Godfrey. This oak. Do you know L. calls it the 
"Dial Oak?" whose circling shadow, at some time 
every day, points each man to his grave. By the bye, 
can you repeat those fine lines of John Malcolm's, on 
a dial ? 

Edward. In part. 



" Upon a dial stone 
Behold the shade of time, 
Forever circling on and on 
In silence more sublime 
Than if the thunder of the spheres 
Pealed forth its march to mortal ears ! 

" It meets us hour bj' hour, 
Doles forth our little span, 
Eeveals a presence and a power 
Felt and confessed by man ; — 
Tlie drops of moments, day by day, 
That rocks of ages wear away. 

" Woven bj- a hand unseen. 
Upon that sione survey 
A robe of dark sepulchral green, 
The mantle of decay, — 
'I lie fold of chill oblivion's pall, 
'Ihat falletb with yon shadow.'s fall ! 



THE DIAL. 87 



" Day is the time for toil, — 
Night balms the ■weary breast, — 
Stars have their vigils, — seas, awhile, 
"Will sink to peaceful rest; — 
But round and round the shadow creeps 
Of that which slumbers not nor sleeps I 

" Before the ceaseless shade 
That round the world doth sail, 
It's towers and temples bow the head, 
The pyramids look pale, 
The festal halls grow hushed and cold. 
The everlasting hills wax old. 



'• Coeval with the sun. 
Its silent course began. 
And still its phantom race shall run 
Till worlds with age grow wan, — 
Till darkness spread her funeral pall, 
And one vast shadow circles all ! " 



Godfrey. See, wliile you were repeating, the moon 
has gone clown behind Onota, and the shadows are 
deepening around us. Have they, too, no lesson ? 



CHAPTER X. 

LEXOX AXD ITS SCEXERY. 

In tradition, and in books, far and near, is Lenox 
known as one of the most charminsr mountain towns in 
New England. Tlie traveller never forgets the joy 
which breaks in upon him through his gratified senses, 
when on a fresh Summer morning, he mounts its hill 
for the first time. He knows not whether to admire 
most the rural neatness of its quiet village, the pure, 
sweet air whose briskness so braces his nerves, or the 
varied beauty of its landscapes. How it cools a 
fevered brain, and restores the elasticity of a depressed 
spirit, to feel oneself treading freely upon green earth 
unbounded by iron railings, and to gaze into a blue sky 
unclouded by smoke and dust ! Those only who leave 
the hot terraces and singed air of a city, can worthily 
panegyrize the dewy mornings, the cool, luxuriant 
verdure, and the wide prospect which regale the senses 
in a mountain region like ours. VTe take an honest 
pride in watching the glow of health gradually sutl'iising 
the pale cheeks of those who come to snuff our air. 
How buoyant become the spirits, let loose from sickly 
confinement upon that which " every natural heart 
enjoys I " How ring the merry shouts up our joyous 
hills*! 



LENOX. 89 

The stranger will need no guide to find such charms. 
He need but confidently open the porches of his senses 
and it shall go very hard if they fail to stream in 
through each inlet. It matters not so much at what 
season he come, so he bring with him a mind capable 
of appreciating and enjoying a beauty which changes 
with every varying aspect of the heavens. There is 
the balm of a IMay morning ; the quickening vitality of 
the warmth of June ; and the mellow glory of October, 
— as well as the comparative freshness of our July 
and August, to those who follow the example of the 
Roman, in fleeing from " mad dogs and streets black 
with funerals, to gather the first figs of the season in 
the country." They are doubtless wise in the light of 
their own philosophy, who seek a rural retreat like 
ours, for a month or two, — ready to hasten back to 
the delights of " trivial pomp and- city noise," as soon 
as the dog-star abates his rage a little ; but let not such 
presume to fancy themselves at all conversant with the 
budding, ripening, and fading beauties of the " swelling 
year," as it unfolds itself in our hill country ! 

But to the mere lover of natural scenery, though he 
linger, never tiring of the varied pleasures revealed to 
him, the half has not been told. He who regards our 
village only as a part of the " great world of eye and 
ear," may be deeply impressed with its claims upon his 
admiration, and yet go away but ill prepared to do 
justice to its truest beauties. A Berkshire Winter is 
almost bleak enough to become a proverb ; but some of 
us, who have braved its blasts, would not barter the 
prospect which it brings, of the genial delights of wai'm 
fire-sides and warm hearts, for the prospect of an 



90 TAGHCONIC. 



Italian spring, or of three months in the spice-groves 
of Araby the blest ! He who would give Lenox its 
due meed of praise, must be able to interweave the 
first impressions of the stranger with the matured ac- 
quaintance of the resident. If that cannot be his lot, 
we would tell him that here is the wealth of personal 
worth ; that here have lived, and still live, many whom 
the world delight to honor ; that here, in a quiet seclu- 
sion congenial to thought and fancy, reflecting and 
gifted minds have plumed many " winged words " for 
a ceaseless flight. 

In order to get the best distant view of Lenox, you 
must approach it by the Lebanon road. As you wind 
down the mountain, you get occasional glimpses of the 
spires of a half-hid village, on an eminence east of you. 
Soon a turn in the road brings you in sight of a broad, 
cultivated swell of ground, sloping gently up from 
beneath you, on the brow of which, so embosomed in 
shrubbery that it promises to reveal much more than 
you are now permitted to see, stands the main part of 
the village. The spire which you see upon the left is 
upon the steeple of the Congregational church, which 
overlooks the village from an eminence north of it. As 
you approach, the tufts of trees open partially and dis- 
close a cluster of white houses stretching a third of a 
mile from north to south, and upon several streets con- 
verging towards the centre of the village ; the whole so 
thick set with maples and elms that very few of the 
buildings can be distinctly seen. While nearing the 
village from this direction, you have on the right a fine 
view over a broad, green valley, extending into the 
towns of Stockbridge and West Stockbridge, and cooped 



LENOX. 91 

snugly in on all sides by ridges of hills. It was while 
travelling over this same road, with this lovely scene 
beneath them, that a party of Hungarians, who had 
come to Lenox in search of employment, could not re- 
frain from raising their hands and shouting their admi- 
ration to the full extent of their English, in repeated 
exclamations of " beauty ! beauty ! " 

We have entered Lenox by an unusual route. If 
the cars on the Housatonic railroad set you down at the 
depot, about two miles from the village, you will have 
a carriage ride all the way up hill. The road for a part 
of the way is delightful. The murmur of a brook on 
each side of you is a pleasant exchange for the hoarse 
mumbling of the cars, and you become sensible of a 
purer and fresher breeze fanning your cheek as you 
ascend. The wild luxuriance of the scenery on all sides, 
the perfect stillness of the air, save when broken in upon 
by the songs of birds, singing as with no fear of being dis- 
turbed in the security of their leafy labyrinths ; the whole 
impression of a scene so wild and native is so utterly 
dissonant from the ideas suggested by the sound of the 
whistle, that, — if we may forestall the traveller in his 
reflections, — the incongruity of the tales told to your 
senses will be the burden of your thoughts. A railroad 
through the marts of trade, on the banks of the Hudson, 
or even over the Rocky Mountains, whither the gold 
region invites, you could contemplate with quiet com- 
placency ; but here, where the golden age still seems to 
linger, the vulgar snortings of the iron-horse grate 
liarshly upon the ear. If the Latin poet thought that 
the heart of that man who first thwarted the designs of 
Heaven in cutting: off the land from the " unsociable 



92 TAGHCONIC. 



ocean," by tempting it with liis impious bark, must have 
been girt with "brass and triple steel," judge, O ye 
gods ! how insensate must that wretch have been who 
first turned the leaden eyes of railway harpies toward 
our quiet village ! How must slumber have forever 
forsaken his eyelids who thus " murdered sleep ! " 

But your memory having been recalled to the fact 
that you are on the way to Lenox, you will be wonder- 
ing, long before you get a glimpse of it, where there 
can be a village so far up. Your expectation almost 
tires of seeing it perched, invitingly, on some hill-top 
now hid from view, to which the consideration that a 
"city set on a hill" ought not to be hid, certainly 
brings no relief; but notwithstanding your reflections, 
up and still up you go, till you suddenly find yourself 
in the back streets of the village. Lenox has the high- 
est elevation of any village in the county, being at 
least thirteen hundred feet above the sea level. Yet 
situated on a hill among hills, protected somewhat by a 
sort of amphitheatre of ridges, without being shut away 
from the cool breezes which sweep so gratefully over 
these mountain ranges in Summer, the thermometer 
actually indicates less extremes of heat and cold than in 
the villages located in the adjacent valleys. Whether 
it be principally owing to its position, or to that com- 
bined with the pleasing inducement to walking and 
riding offered by the shady avenues and delightful 
roads diverging in so many directions from Lenox, or 
to the superadded effect of the cheerful morality which 
prevails, that the cheeks of the young wear such a 
peculiarly healthy glow, it is certain that this never 
fails to attract the notice of strangers. It was with less 



LENOX. 93 

surprise than gratification, considering the favorable- 
ness to health of the locality, and of the pursuits to 
which its inhabitants are devoted, that on a recent ex- 
amination of the record of deaths, faithfully kept for 
the past ten years, we found Lenox to be by far the 
healthiest town in the county. 

The public buildings of the county are situated in 
Lenox. The Court-House is a brick edifice, of un- 
exceptionable taste in its architecture, and furnished 
with a library for the use of the bar. Here also is an 
Academy, which being the oldest in Berkshire, presents 
a history of success through fifty years, seldom equalled 
by institutions of its kind. The principal Hotel — so 
situated as to command a favorable view, both of the 
village and distant scenery — has become, under the 
care of its efiicient proprietor, M. S. Wilson, Esq., a 
favorite resort for visitors from the cities. 

Unlike the rugged, grotesque scenery to be met with 
in some parts of Berkshire, the landscapes adjacent to 
Lenox are rather of a picturesque character. There 
is hardly a rod of level land in the town, yet there is 
very little that can be called broken. Even the hills, 
notwithstanding their bold proximity, present such a 
social and inviting aspect, that no one in whose ear 
natural scenery speaks an intelligible language, will 
remain long in sight of them without accepting their 
invitation to climb their sunny sides. Bald Summit, 
in the south-west, tenders as tempting a request as any ; 
he is a brave " specular mount," and will repay you 
with a prospect in grandeur and beauty not easily sur- 
passed. The view he gives you is wide, rich, and 
joyous, — nothing in the range of your vision frowns. 
8 



94 TAGHCONIC. 



If you want a guide-book, take " L' Allegro " with you, 
and passing from swell to swell, from hill top to hill 
top, all the region over, you will find nothing to mar 
the gayety of its pictures. Sunny slopes, covered with 
''■ meadows trim ; " delightful swells undulating over 
broad, green valleys ; hills on whose sides cultivated 
fields alternate with luxuriant wood-land patches — the 
very summits of many crowned with the sweetest pas- 
turage ; little lakes of peerless beauty smiling out of 
their sheltered beds among the hills ; villages in several 
directions, embowered in shrubbery that tempers the 
glow of their white buildings ; the whole scene begirt 
in the distance, in some directions, by sturdy elevations, 
and in others by long ridges drawing a clear line 
against the sky, are the main features of a picture, — for 
the coloring and details of which you must be indebted 
to Bald Summit himself. 

But as after a general survey of a face you always 
return to take a second look at the eye, turn now to 
gaze awhile at the eye of our landscape. It is a blue 
eye now, and looks out lovingly from underneath shel- 
tering brows; but when Heaven's face scowls over 
these hills, it blackens and scowls too. It sparkles and 
glances in the jocund light of morning ; we have loved 
to watch it, growing soft and deep, like a dying man's 
eye at sunset ! 

A lady, of whom we intend shortly to speak, has 
given this little lake the name of the "• Stockbridge 
Bowl." It is the largest of the three lakes near our 
southern border, and is a gem we take no little pride 
in showing to the stranger. You must get a view of it 
from the south-eastern shore, that the dark shade of 



THE PEOPLE. 



95 



the elms upon its nortliern and western sides may 
throw into higher effect the magnificent sweep of its 
margin. Go and listen to the music of the ripples on 
its pebbly beach, when a morning breeze ruffles its 
surface ; go and catch a " noontide dream " from their 
fainter murmur at mid-day ; go and watch the shadows 
of the mountains darken and lengthen, and melt in its 
molten crystal. When your ears are wearied with the 
coarse din of business thoroughfares, and your eyes 
aching with the glare of brick walls, many will be the 
times that you will long for another draught of beauty 
from the Stockbridge Bowl. 

It becomes us to observe all circumspection in speak- 
ing of the personal characteristics of those among whom 
our book will doubtless find its way ; but we cannot 
forbear trespassing on the privacy of the people of 
Lenox suflScient to pay what we deem a just tribute to 
their mental and moral qualities. Leaving out — as 
we are always bound to do — the few who tower above, 
and the few who crouch below the main mass, we never 
knew a people who had, to a greater degree, the rare, 
happy faculty of holding fast the "golden mean." 
Elevated by education and refinement far above the 
rusticity so characteristic of too much of our New-Eng- 
land yeomanry, yet they do not aspire to the pomp of 
gay life, or the pageantry of fashion. Not anxious for 
the excitements of intense exertion, as indeed they are 
remote from the great centres of commercial and polit- 
ical agitation, they will win your admiration more by 
their intelligence, their fidelity, and their affection, than 
by the cloud of dust they raise on the arena of the 
world's strife. While you will find in them an unaf- 



96 TAGHCOXIC. 

fected appreoiation and a warm love for the beauties of 
their hills, and lakes, and skies, each one is inclined to 
prefer his own fireside to aU ebe ; and at their firesides 
veil mnst meet them, if toq wonld know them as they 
really are. TTe have often thought, perhaps not jnstly, 
but certainly with great admiration for their philosophy. 
that if all obstacles to the realization of their ideal of 
fife were removed, it would be one — 



' Whose ercB fluvad tlie Fttps «?!s T;>gad and fUI, 
OstoCfheirclioice^: 5^1 'J: f:^wiL" 



CHAPTER XI* 

LENOX AS A JUNGLE FOR LITEKART LIONS. 

The rural beauty of its localit j, and the unobtrusiye 
deference universallj paid to real worth, by its inhabi- 
tants, have attracted within the precincts of Lenox 
many persons of literary eminence. This fact has long 
associated its name with that kind of celebrity, wliich, 
through an affection for genius itself, is always accorded 
to its local habitation. Xo ordinary interest invests the 
spot where the private life of a distinguished person is 
passed ; and, partly because persons of genius are very 
generally characterized by eccentricities, and partly 
because every thing connected with those we love has 
a peculiar claim upon our regard, there is nothing that 
we seize with more avidity than details of their per- 
sonelle — their daily walk and conversation — the way 
in which they demean themselves, when they have laid 
aside the buskin, or dismounted from the Pegasus of 
their coursings, and become common men and women 
— fellow mortals. Grateful as are the tones of their 
voices, when addressing us as " Gentle Reader," it is 
with a far more home-felt delight that we hear them, 

* For this and the preceding Chapter, I am Indebted to the pen of Mr. 
BucKHAM, of Lenox. 

8* 



98 



TAGHCONIC. 



when companions of their walks, or fellow visitants of 
their favorite haunts, even in imagination. 

In attempting to play the cicerone for you, in these 
trippings, we only wish that wliile we observe the limits 
of propriety and courtesy, in making such disclosures, 
we could bring materials for your entertainment at all 
commensurate with the distinguished merit of the per- 
sons to whom we shall introduce you. 

And first, of !MiS3 Sedgwick. At the bare men- 
tion of her name, we seem to see a whole troup of 
sunny-faced children gathering close around us — for 
while hers is a name which men of the sturdiest intel- 
lects have long associated with whatever is graceful in 
literature, we know of none more adapted to beguile 
'• young children from play, and the old from the chim- 
ney corner." Yet we cannot speak of 3Iiss Sedgwick 
as we would, for we venture to say that the retirement 
of her private life would reveal more to admire the 
more it was unfolded ; we cannot even speak freely of 
the cordiality of her manners, the chai'ms of her con- 
versation, or the winning grace of her whole life ; for 
if we knew aught of these things beyond others, it 
could only have been from her own confiding courtesy. 
TTe are therefore reluctantly compelled to regard her 
in a position which she shares with many others, and 
to place the great, in her character, more prominently 
before the eye than the good. 

The first part of Miss Sedgwick's literary career 
was spent in Stockbridge, the place of her birth. Many 
of the beautiful descriptions of scenery to be met with 
throughout her writings, are transcripts of impressions 
made upon her mind by the scenery among which her 



MISS SEDGWICK. 99 



youthful imagination was nurtured, in the lovely vaUey 
of the Housatonic. There is no trait in her mental 
constitution which gives more grace to all the goings 
forth of her life — intellectual and social — than its 
inborn affinity for natural beauty. She has done much 
to induce a liveHer sympathy with the beautiful in the 
minds of all, but more especially in the humbler classes, 
who have been supposed to be almost, of necessity, out 
of the reach of its refining intiuence. She has given 
names, and by her descriptions, attractiveness, to many 
of the most admired features of Berkshire scenery; 
and our horticultural exhibitions are always graced by 
a bouquet of flowers reared by her own hand. 

Neither in her intellect nor her feelings has 3Iis3 
Sedgwick been trammelled by any of the straight-laced 
notions of a school. The simplicity of nature has never 
been trained by art to rigidity; nor have the spon- 
taneous promptings of intelligence and good-will been 
curbed into too decent a conformity with conventional 
models. Her views on all subjects embracing human 
relations, are uncommonly liberal and tolerant, and are 
only equalled in breadth by her universal sympathy 
with the true and the good, wherever found. If the 
mode in which she ridiculed the extravagances into 
which relisrious doctrines, held sacred bv so larere a 
share of her countrymen, had been suffered to nm, and 
which got for the " New-England Tale " the reputation 
of being a covert attack against the doctrines them- 
selves, seems to form an exception, — we can only say 
that it must be an exception, for it certainly has no 
parallel in her writings, and no sanction iu her pri- 
vate character. Whilst we must acknowledge that it 



100 TAGHCOXIC. 



is a most perilous undertaking to ridicule religious ex- 
cesses, — and vrliilst we must in candor saj that we 
think Miss Sedgwick has erred upon the more dangerous 
side, vet when we take into consideration the fact that 
the Tale was commenced as a religious tract, with a 
sincere desire to open men's eyes to matters which 
may have needed correction, and that, after it had 
grown into a book under the author's hands, she enter- 
tained no idea of publishing it, until almost compelled 
by her friends, we cannot think that it ought to 
impair the validity of our assertion, drawn from her 
later wi-itings, and the impression of her private life, 
that she has a cordial love for all that is lovely, and a 
ready sympathy for all that is worthy of it. Though 
strongly American in her attachments, she could yet 
see and acknowledge wherein we are behind our broth- 
ers of the Old "World ; her conviction of the absurdity 
of our eternal self-srlorification as a countrv, she re- 
corded on the title-page of her " Letters from Abroad," 
in a motto which we think she might adopt in her opin- 
ions of other things with equal truth: ''WeU. John, 
I think we must acknowledge that God Almighty had 
a hand in making other countries besides our own." 

It is impossible to read any of the writings of !Mis3 
Sedgwick without being impressed with the idea that 
she wrote not for applause, nor for self gratification, 
but with a more generous aim, and with a higher am- 
bition. "We know of no American author who has done 
so much to eradicate false notions of domestic educa- 
tion, or of social economy, who has made so many homes 
happy, and infused such sterling principles with such 
gentle tones into the popular philosophy. Would that 



HATITBOKXE. 101 



there were more gentle spirits to rise and follow in her 
steps — to imbme their own minds first with a love of 
the truth, the broad, sound, fundamental truth whieli 
imderlies himian prosperity in its widest scope, and 
then devote themselves to its propagation, with the 
seriousness and humUity of Miss Sedgwick I If they 
should not all produce works which for their literary 
merit, but more for their sanctiiying influence, future 
ages will not let die, the thought of the poor whom 
they have visited and comforted, of the sad homes 
they have cheered, of the schools they have fostered, 
and the ignorant they have lured to a love of knowl- 
edge, will, as we are sure it does, to gladden the serene 
maturity of Miss Sedgwick's life, breathe into their 
reflections, — 

" Che oonsciOBSDes ct Ihrins ia 
TiM gialeftl BOMiy «f &e good!** 

Of Hawthoh>t: we feel at liberty to speak more 
freely. The example which he himself has set us. in 
his introduction to "The Scarlet Letter/' is of itself 
sufficient to remove all scruples that we might other- 
wise have. 

On the nonhem shore of the Stockbridge BowL in 
a spot of unrivalled loveliness, stands a smaU, unin- 
viting red hotise with green window-blinds, and with 
one single pine tree before it. You might pass it 
at almost any time of the day, and you would think 
it vacant ; the doors would all be shut, the blinds 
all closed, and that single pine tree would look as 
sullen as if it were conscious of its loneliness. There 
would be no path to the gate, and no knocker on the 



102 TAGHCONIC. 



door, and you would immediately conclude that the red 
house of the two gables was shut against the resort of 
men, — and you would not be far from right, for there 
lives Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

If, however, on a closer inspection you observed a 
wreath of smoke curling up from the chimney of the 
house of the two gables, and had curiosity enough to 
saunter about the precincts, in hopes of seeing signs of 
life, until about four o'clock, you would finally hear the 
door creak, and there would stand before you a mid- 
dling-sized, thick-set man, with a large, vigorous face, 
and lying under a profusion of coarse, black hair, a 
head of massive development. There would be no 
particular feature in his countenance of especial beauty, 
except it were his dark and intelligent eye, arched by 
a very black eye-brow, — yet you would gather from 
the tout ensemhle of the expression that it betokened an 
intensely-working and thorough-going intellect. "Were 
it not that the countenance is relieved and heightened 
by the vigor and intensity of mental activity, that 
beams through it, you would think there was something 
in it very heavy and sombre. If you ever had any 
hint that there was a vein of rancor and acrimony in 
his character, you would see no indications of it in his 
face, unless you fell to imagining what expression that 
black eye would take, and that heavy eyebrow, and that 
firmly drawn mouth, when he was belaboring the Cus- 
tom House ofiicials, or spurring his bitterness against 
some hypocrite, — who was of course a Calvinist and a 
Puritan. But while you were making these observa- 
tions, your hero would raise his eyes from the ground 
long enough to give you one of those modest but 



HAWTHORNE. 103 



expressive glances wliicli mark the man of seclusion and 
reflection, and then with a kind of SAvinging gait which 
would assure you that he was not used to bustle among 
the crowds of business or fashion, would wend his way 
up to the village Post Office. 

Mr. Hawthorne, even for a man of letters, leads a 
remarkably secluded life. He has a few literary friends 
with whom he cherishes an intimacy congenial to a 
mind of such cultivation and sensibility, and a friend- 
ship which does honor to his heart, but he shows no dis- 
position to mingle largely in society. This aversion to 
social intercourse has been remarkable in him during 
his literary career, and even far back into his youth, if 
we may credit the accounts of his acquaintances. Not 
only in his private life, but all through his writings, 
there seems to breathe an unsympathising, morbid 
spirit, — a spirit that seems to take a satisfaction in 
keeping itself aloof from those who are guilty of the 
foibles which it takes a still greater satisfaction in con- 
templating. This spirit he could never have inherited 
from his ancestors, else those j)rogenitors of his, who for 
so many generations " followed the sea," were a strange 
set of tars ! Perhaps all his better sympathies were 
chilled in those speculations with his dreamy brethren 
of the Brook Farm Community ; perhaps he and Emer- 
son, enraptured with the mystic perfection of their own 
fantasies, abjured all communion with this our gross 
humanity ; he certainly could not have had his feelings 
frozen into hate by contact with the genial and sympa- 
thizing intellect of Ellery Channing, or at the warm 
hearth-stone of Longfellow. 

Yet, after all, we should be strangely insensate and 



104 TAGHCONIC. 



ungrateful, if we were disposed to grumble at what 
may be, in the case of IMi\ Hawthorne, but the concom- 
itant of seclusion and literary devotion, or what at the 
worst is so admirably wrought into piquancy in his 
writings. The world, and we with them, would be 
sorry were it far otherwise, and we are perfectly indif- 
ferent as to which of the two gables of his red house he 
shuts himself in, if he will but open the door occasion- 
ally, and send forth such volumes as he has of late been 
giving to the public. But we are not so selfish that we 
cannot see, or that we would not like to tell Mr. Haw- 
thorne, that our gain is his loss, in one respect at least. 
We would tell him that the church upon our hill — the 
church, too, whose walls echoed the almost dying tones 
of his beloved Channing, in his last public address — is 
not the sanctuary of asceticism of any kind, and the 
eloquent sincerity of a believing Calvinist has at- 
tractions even for those who have no sympathy with 
his piety; but the shadow of the occupant of the 
house of the two gables seldom, if ever, darkens a 
church door. Doubtless the remains of the Puri- 
tan sermons which moaned through the shattered tim- 
bers, and pealed through the tree tops of the old manse 
at Concord, sufficed IMr. Hawthorne for the remainder 
of his life, or else disgusted him with the idea of any- 
thing which by^ any possibility could savor of Puritan 
homiletics. 

Mr. Hawthorne was born and spent the early part of 
his life in Salem, that old Puritan city, where the 
witches were persecuted with such relentless fury ; — a 
city which still, in spite of the cheerfulness of its 
modern improvements, cannot be dissociated from that 



HAWTHORNE. 105 



gloom which invested it of okl, as if the " Gallows 
Hill," which overlooks it, would never withdraw its 
shadow. Here, doubtless, he imbibed that fierce hatred 
for many traits of the Puritan character, which per- 
vade and almost embitter his writings. There is always 
looming up in the background of his picture — ill pro- 
tected by the thin tissue of the tale, or rather thrown 
into bolder relief by its reflected light — some gaunt 
old snuffler, bigoted in his zeal, hypocritical in his pro- 
fessions, who, notwithstanding that he is at heart the 
very chief of sinners and almost a rival for the chief 
of demons, lays all the claims to sanctity to be found in 
the lankest possible hair, the most fervid quotation of 
Scripture language, in a voice not wanting the due 
nasal intonations, — in every respect the devoutest of 
men, save in his heart, where rankle the worst propen- 
sities and the most damnable passions. With a sort of 
bitter pleasure, and regardless of the rules of warfare, 
Mr. Hawthorne first stealthily strips him of his coat of 
mail, and then against his exposed enemy levels a 
storm of poisoned shafts, barbed with all the skill that 
a refined malice can invent, that he may have the fierce 
satisfaction of glorifying in his fall. We can hardly 
forgive Mr. Hawthorne this assault on the occasional 
weaknesses of here and there one of those whom, not- 
withstanding, a long line of children glory in claiming 
as their ancestry. Bating this one characteristic, 
which, though it may add to the piquancy of his wri- 
tings, certainly detracts from their merit. Mr. Haw- 
thorne is one of the purest, most forcible, as well as 
most graceful, of living English prose writers. His 
style is splendidly constructed, his language racy and 
9 



106 TAGHCONIC. 



idiomatic, -while the magnificent web of his imagery — 
sometimes reflecting the glance of a metaphor, and 
sometimes interweaving a long array of analogies into 
a beautiful allegory, is enchanting beyond description. 

Mr. Hawthorne's last published book, " A Wonder 
Book, for Boys and Girls," contains a number of accu- 
rate descriptions of our Lenox scenery. He fitly styles 
himself "the silent man in the red house." In this 
book he has worked up six of the classical myths into 
forms adapted to the capacities and suited to the im- 
provement of the young, — and we think with remark- 
able success. That he who has furnished strong and 
muscular food for staid men, can thus cater to the milk 
loving palates of children. Is no meagre evidence of a 
versatile mind. 

" The Scarlet Letter," and the " House of the Seven 
Gables," have been received with great favor in Eng- 
land, and their author pronounced one of the master 
magicians of the age, in his province. And notwith- 
standing the minor charges which we felt bound in jus- 
tice to lay at the door of " the silent man in the red 
house " of the two gables, we would have it understood 
that we cherish the thought of his abode among us 
with a complacency commensurate with the splendor of 
his abilities and his renown. 

Although Mrs. Kemble is temporarily absent, we 
still reckon her among our honored residents. Indeed, 
even if her return was not anticipated at no very 
distant period, there are few who would be willing to 
forget the partiality which a lady of such distinguished 
reputation and undisputed taste has shown to the 



FANNY KEMBLE. 107 



scenery and other attractions of Lenox. She is remem- 
bered as a marked and generous woman ; there is not 
a peasant in the region — however much he may have 
been startled at her individualities — who has not some 
tale to tell of her munificence. It was not to be sup- 
posed that many of the graver people would look with 
much complacency on the port and demeanor of so 
singularly spirited a lady, much less on her man-like 
propensities to driving, hunting, and fishing, and less 
than all on her man-like attire, while engaged in them. 
There are many who did not know her, save as a splen- 
did, imperious, passionate woman ; they could not love 
her who knew not also how ardent and generous a 
nature was hers. That she had extraordinary genius, 
an inflexible and irresistible will, and a consummate 
address, every one, who ever saw her, acknowledged ; 
that she had the tender sympathies of a noble nature, 
the poor by whose bedsides she watched, and to whom 
she read the Bible in their sickness, will convince you, 
with many a tearful tale ; but those only who knew 
her as a friend, can tell the full strength of her claim 
upon their admiration and their love. 

But it were both ungrateful and unjust to close these 
sketches of those whose presence among us has done 
honor to our village, without paying a tribute to one 
who devoted his conspicuous talents, and his long and 
honored life, to its spiritual upbuilding. It very rarely 
falls to the lot of any community to be under the 
guardianship of so large-souled and devoted a man as 
Dr. Shepard. With abilities which gave him a tow- 
ering eminence among his brethren, united with great 



108 TAGHCONIC. 



physical and personal endowments, his power as an 
eloquent speaker, no less than a vehement proclaimer 
of the truth of God, stood confessed in the admiration 
of two generations of men ; while his genial piety and 
the strong flow of his sympathetic ardor, have gained 
for him even more, to love him and to venerate his 
memory, than those who admired the breadth of his 
intellectual view, and the fervor and power of his elo- 
quence. After having long been regarded as a ven- 
erable " Father in God," he closed his career of more 
than half a century of pastoral labor in Lenox, in 
January, 1846. 

"Xonername him but to praise." 



CHAPTER XII. 

LAKE ONOTA AND ITS WHITE DEER. 

I SAID, the other day, that Pontoosuc was not quite 
my favorite, among our mountain lakes. Onota is. 
This beautiful sheet of water lies in an elevated valley, 
some two miles west of our Old Elm, whence our 
matter-of-fact people almost universally call it the 
" West Pond." You reach it by a few steps from the 
high road, upon the north or south, but it is almost ere- 
metically concealed from the passenger upon it. If 
one is" a good walker, the better approach is across the 
fields, between the two. From almost any part of the 
main street of our village, you can see upon an emi- 
nence in the west two twin elms, forming a perfect 
gothic arch, — " St. Mary's Arch " they call it. Keep- 
ing your eye upon this pretty landmark, follow such 
footpath as you can find ; and when you reach it, a few 
steps farther will bring you to the green and mossy 
woods upon the eastern borders of Onota. 

Of all our lovely groves, none are more perfect than 
this. Few have so hermit-like a solitude; yet none 
are so far removed from a desolate lonehness. These 
shades are sometimes very solemn, but never gloomy ; 
one cannot feel very sad in them, but with a merry 
company might be very gay. 
9* 



110 TAGHCONIC. 



Around these shores were some of the earliest settle- 
ments ; and before the intrusion of the white man, they 
were the favorite haunt of the Indian. A gentleman 
tells me that in digging into a bed of peat and marl, 
upon his farm on the west of the lake, he has found, at 
great depth, stakes pointed artificially, — evidently the 
remains of wigwams built ages ago, when, perhaps, the 
marl bed was a lakelet as crystal clear as Onota. Re- 
mains of the rude arts of the later Indians used to be 
found in the neighboring fields ; but now they are 
rarely, if ever, turned up by the plough. 

Wandering through the grove we come to the north- 
ern extremity of the lake, whence the view to the 
south is very wild and imposing ; I believe it is the 
fashion for artists and connoisseurs to consider this the 
best point of view to be had of the lake, — indeed as 
the best of its kind any where to be found. The pecu- 
liar formation of the lake is certainly here displayed 
to the best advantage, and is very curious. At about 
one quarter of its length from its northern end, it is 
divided by a narrow isthmus ; the northern portion of 
the lake being the work of those skillful engineers, the 
beavers, — who formed it by building a dam across a 
small stream which still runs through it, overflowing 
their embankment in sufficient quantities to turn a mill 
wheel at some distance below. The main or southern 
lake is fed by springs. 

The fringed gentian, the cardinal and other gor- 
geous wild flowers, grow in profusion at the north 
of the lake. The more pleasant resort, however, is 
upon the south, — where, of a dreamy Summer after- 
noon one can recline in luxurious reveries, as he 



THE WHITE DEER. Ill 

watches the image of the mountains, sharply reflected 
in the clear waters ; sometimes in the green leafiness of 
June, sometimes in the melancholy gorgeousness of 
Autumn, or, better still, when the haze of the Indian 
Summer invests them with hues of j^early delicacy 
and richness. 

Perhaps, while you look, a broad winged eagle will 
appear above you, soaring and sweeping in the silent 
sky till it vanishes into the heavens ; or a blue king- 
fisher will perch awhile upon yonder blasted bough, 
and then suddenly darting into the water bear away its 
writhing prey to its hidden haunt. Other gentler birds 
will sit a-tilt on the lithe green branches — and, if it be 
in early Summer, serenade your slumberous ear. 

Near by, the cattle will stand in groups on a pleasant 
point of land which runs out into the lake, and which 
they seem to love better than other spots. It was this 
point which the Indians called Onota, whence the 
earlier settlers extended the name to the whole lake. 
There are a couple of legends about this Onota, per- 
haps worth the telling. The first is well authenticated, 
and the other not improbable, as legends go. 

Q:i)e ttQc\\b of tlje tX)l)ite Wccv, 

There is hardly a country where a deer ever trod in 
which there does not linger some legend of one or more 
of these graceful animals, either wholly or in part of a 
supernatural whiteness. It is a fancy which seems to 
spring spontaneously in the rich soil of a woodman's 
imagination. The " White Doe of Rylston," and Bry- 
ant's "White-footed Deer," will occur to every one, 



112 TAGHCONIC. 



as instances of the use to which these traditions have 
been put in poetry. Traditions with very similar inci- 
dents and catastrophies are said to exist in almost every 
tribe of North American Indians, and among others, 
those of the Housatonic valley. 

A gentleman tells me that in the "old witch times," 
there were no firmer believers in supernaturalisms than 
the people who lived about Onota ; one of whom was 
his own grandfather. This worthy old gentleman — 
dead long since, but then a middle-aged man — coming 
in from an unsuccessful hunt, saw a white deer stooping 
down to drink, at Point Onota. Instantly his rifle 
was at his shoulder, but, before he could pull the trig- 
ger, his dog howled and the startled deer disappeared. 

The marvellous story of the White Deer immediately 
occurred to him, and it entered into his head that his 
dog was bewitched, or rather that an old hag who 
lived in the neighboring woods had assumed the shape 
of the dog — which, among other devilish freaks, she had 
the dangerous reputation of being able to do. With 
never a doubt, therefore, that he was all the while bela- 
boring the old witch, our disappointed hunter belabored 
his poor beast until the woods howled again. This done, 
he posted away to the cabin of the old crone and de- 
manded that she should show him her back, on which 
he did not doubt he should find the marks of the blows 
he had inflicted upon his miserable hound. Of course 
the old lady was in a tempest of wrath when she learned 
the errand of her visitor ; and it is believed my friend's 
grandfather made a retreat more discreet than valiant, 
under a shower of blows from that notorious article of 
household furniture which was supposed to serve its 



THE WHITE DEER. 113 

mistress the double purpose of a broom by day and an 
aerial steed by night, and which now answered another 
very excellent turn. 

Another gentleman, to whom I mentioned this anec- 
dote, tells me an aboriginal legend of tliis same White 
Deer. 

" Long before the Englishmen set foot in the Housa- 
tonic valley," he said, " the Indians used to notice a 
deer, of complete and spotless white, which came 
often, in the Summer and Autumn months, to drink at 
Onota. Against this gentle creature no red man's ar- 
row was ever pointed ; for, in their simple faith, they 
believed that with her light and airy step she brought 
good fortune to the dwellers in the valley. ' So long, 
the prophecy ran, *So long as the snow white doe 
comes to drink at Onota, so long famine shall not blight 
the Indian's harvest, nor pestilence come nigh his lodge, 
nor foemen lay waste his country.' In the graceful 
animal the tribe recognized and loved their good genius. 
He among them who dared to harm her would have 
met swift punishment as a sacriligious wretch and 
traitor." 

Thus protected by the love of her simple friends, 
year after year, soon as the white blossoms clothed the 
cherry, the sacred deer came to drink at her chosen 
fountain ; bringing good omens to all, and especially to 
the maiden who first espied her glittering brightly among 
the foliage. Finally she brought with her a fawn, if pos- 
sible, of more faultless purity and grace than herself; 
and that year more than the usual plenty and happiness 
reigned round the lake. Not long after this, the first 
French and Indian war broke out, and a young French 



114 TAGHCONIC. 



officer — Montalbert by name — was sent to incite the 
Housatonic Indians to join in the league against the 
EngHsh Colonies. 

In his sacred character as an ambassador he was 
welcomed to their lodges, had a seat at their council 
fire, and listened eagerly to their wild and marvellous 
tales. Among others he heard the story of the White 
Deer; and however incredulous of her sanctity, suffi- 
ciently admired the descriptions of her beauty. Among 
those reckless and ambitious adventurers who set up 
the standard of France in Canada, it was a passion to 
carry away some wonderful trophy of the forest do- 
main, to lay at the feet of their sovereign. Even the 
persons of the savages had thus been presented at the 
Court of Versailles, and royal favor had not been nig- 
gard in rewarding the donors of the more unique and 
costly trophies of barbaric splendor. 

It was for such reasons that an uncontrollable desire 
to possess the skin of the White Deer took possession 
of Montalbert. He already enjoyed, in imagination, 
the reward which could not fail him who brought so 
rare and beautiful a peltry to the splendid Louis. 

Not fully aware of the veneration which the Deer 
received from the natives, he first offered liberal rewards 
to the hunter who should bring to him the coveted 
spoil. For half the proffered price the chiefs would, 
perhaps, have alienated their fairest hunting-grounds ; 
but the proposition to destroy their sacred Deer was 
received with utter horror and indignation. It was 
gently hinted to Montalbert that a repetition of the 
offer might ensure him the fate he designed for the 
Deer. 



THE WHITE DEER. 115 

But the Frenchman was not of a nature to be so 
baffled. He had noticed that one of the native war- 
riors — Wondo, bj name — was already debased by 
the use of the white man's fire-water, of whicli Montal- 
bert possessed a large supply. Concealing his purposes 
for a time, the adventurer sought out this Wondo, and 
shortly contrived to foment the poor fellow's appetite to 
such a degree that he became the absolute slave of who- 
ever had it in his power to minister to his desires. 

When the hunter was thought to be sufficiently be- 
sotted, Montalbert ventured to propose to him a plan to 
secure the skin of the White Deer. Depraved as he 
had become, Wondo at first recoiled from the thought, 
but aj^petite at length prevailed and he yielded to the 
tempter. 

Years of unmolested security had rendered the Deer 
so confident in the friendship of man that when at last 
treachery came, she proved an easy victim. Before 
conscience could awaken in the sacrilegious hunter, the 
gentle animal was taken and slain, and the illgotten fur 
was in the possession of the white man. 

No sooner had Montalbert secured his prize than, 
concealing it in his baggage, he set out for Montreal ; 
but the legend hints that he never reached the French 
border, and the beautiful skin of the Indians' sacred 
Deer never added to the splendors of French royalty. 

Among the natives, the impious slaughter was not 
suspected until the fire-water of the slayer was ex- 
pended, and a returning consciousness compelled him 
to confess his deed of ho»ror, and to meet the speedy 
vengeance which atoned for it. 

Long and earnest were the supplications which the 



116 TAGHCONIC. 



frightened natives sent up to the Great Spirit, that He 
would avert from the tribe the punishment due to such 
a crime ; but the prosperity of the tribe never again 
was what it had been, and its numbers slowly wasted 
away. 

Yet it is said that when they had become very few 
and feeble, a white deer again came to drink at Onota, 
and that same year the Missionary, Sergeant, first pro- 
claimed the truths of the christian gospel among these 
hills, and the red Indian learned to know the white 
man's God. 

There are many hints of dim legends like these about 
Onota, — both of the early settlers and their predeces- 
sors. One, who at this day looks upon its beautiful 
scenery and breathes its pure air, can well feel why life 
used to cluster thickly around its shores. 

There is one little corner of the lake — an open bay 
overhung by dark woods and covered with lilies, that 
reminded me one evening, when white mists were gath- 
ering over it, of a little German ballad. Perhaps the 
connection is of the slightest, but it will warrant me 
in giving a translation of what, in the original, seemed 
to me beautiful. The Mummelsee is a small, gloomy 
lake in the Black Forest, near Baden-Baden. 

itiummelsee : a baiiab from tlje CSerman. 

Tho' Mummel's lake is lone and drear, 

Yet there the lilies bright are blooming, 
And, bending low, their kiss they yield. 

The wanton breeze of mom perfuming. 
But when the night on f arth comes down, 
And the white moon puts on her crown. 
From the dark wave each flower uprises. 
Like youthful maids in festal guises. 



MUMMELSEE. 117 



The winds that whistle tlirough tlie grove 
Give fitting music for their dances, 

While on the shore each Lily-maid 
Througli mazy Circles deftly glances. 

Their graceful forms, how slight, how frail ! 

How white their robes, their cheeks how pale I 

Till the warm dance at length discloses, 

Among the lilies, blended roses ! 

Kow howls the wind, now rolls the storm, 

Through gloomy forests fiercely sweeping; 
The moon in clouds has hid her form, 

And murkier shades o'er earth are creeping. 
Still, up and down the dance goes round 
To the tempest tune, on the rough, wet ground. 
While the foam on the lake-wave whiter flashes, 
As its crests on the shore it higher dashes. 

An arm from out the lake is raised, 

A giant hand and clench'd outthrowing, 
A dripping head, with sedges crowned, 
With a white beard long and flowing. 
Then a voice is heard, with a thunder tone 
That echoes afar through the mountains lone, 
"Back, vagrant Lilies, to your native waters, 
Back to your homes, unduteous daughters I " 

The dance is stilled, the maids grow pale, 

'Tis sad to hear their fitful shrieking : 
"Our Father calls — Ha ! morning air ! 

Back, then, our cheerless waters seeking I"— 
The silver mists from out the valley rise. 
And morning painteth gay the eastern skies ; 
Again the Lilies to the winds are sighing. 
Their pale, meek heads upon the waters lying. 



10 



CHAPTER XIII. 

VISIT TO A SHAKER 3IEETING. 

The name, and something of the character, of the 
" United Society called Shakers," is doubtless familiar 
to you. Everybody has heard of their saltatory wor- 
ship — an absurd mockery of cheerful devotion — of 
their doctrine of universal celibacy, of the perfection 
of their workmanship, the excellence of their hus- 
bandry, and the wonderful neatness and order of all 
that pertains to them. This, however, by no means 
comprises a complete, or the most valuable view of 
their character. Understand them rightly, and I think 
you will find this secluded body of strange religionists 
one of the most instructive, as well as extraordinary 
social phenomena, which the world presents. There is 
something else to be learned among them than careful 
husbandry, or thorough workmanship — something more 
worthy of observation than an ungainly garb, or yet 
more ungainly dance. It is by such strange distortions 
of the social system that the moralist learns much of 
its internal nature, — as the geologist determines the 
internal structure of the earth from its upturned and 
distorted strata. 

I do not, however, purpose to play the moralist, but to 
give some account of a visit to the Millennial Church, 



OUR RIDE. 119 



at New Lebanon, and a brief sketcli of tlieir organiza- 
tion and manner of life. 

Last Sunday I overtasked the generosity of a friend 
by accepting a carriage seat to visit the church of this 
strange sect, or rather this unnatural offshoot of Chris- 
tianity. It was one of those mornings we keep forever 
among our choice memories. Never was balmier west 
wind tlian breathed upon us, over the green hills of 
Taghconic ; never was bluer sky, or fleecier clouds, or 
more heart warming sunshine than ours. We were 
not now in pursuit of natural beauty ; but, off the Berk- 
shire hills, you may wander over many a league of 
lovely landscape, and find none so lovely as will greet 
you at every step upon them. " Here ! " " There ! " 
" Yonder ! " we were continually exclaiming, as one 
and another espied some exquisite little vista opening 
up the valley ; some fine old tree standing out in relief 
from the wood; or some clear brooklet meandering 
awhile by the road side and then dashing down a rocky 
bed, to hide itself in the ravine below. Now we 
watched the shadows of the clouds passing, like dreams, 
over the breasts of the sleeping hills ; and now the 
shimmering sunlight, as it glinted down through the 
rich foliage with as mellow, warm-colored light as that 
which gleams through old cathedral windows. 

One of our party — a daughter of the West, whom 
we will in ink christen " Hesperia " — had always some 
apt quotation to illustrate every scene, and express 
every sentiment; another such glowing eloquence of 
lip and eye as continually rebuked the coldness of admi- 
ration which matter-of-fact people would have called 
excessive, if not insane. It was just such a merry, 



120 TAGHCONIC. 



impressible party as one should desire to meet in pleas- 
ant lands. 

TVe soon reached the village of the Hancock Shakers, 
which they poetically call the " City of Peace." It is 
conspicuous, with its huge round stone barn, — the best 
model, it is said, to be found for a building of the kind ; 
it is certainly the noblest looking agricultural structure 
I ever saw. The meeting-house at this place was 
closed, and the people were going out to hold a " moun- 
tain meeting," — a great festival in Shakerdom, of 
which I shall have more to say, presently. One of the 
brethren, however, politely informed us that we should 
be in ample time for the services at New Lebanon, and 
at the same time gave a glance, which was anything 
but Platonic, to the ladies. 

With this slight glimpse into the Shaker heart, we 
drove on, — staying a moment, however, to listen to 
the sound of monotonous chanting which issued from a 
house where one of the families (a family, in Shaker 
parlance, is a collection of from fifty to one hundred 
persons, living in one house, but in nowise related) 
was engaged in its morning devotions. It was only a 
doleful, droning hymn, of which we could distinguish 
no words, — doubtless very far from melodious in itself, 
but like other such sounds, not without a certain melan- 
choly sweetness, when heard at a distance, in the still- 
ness of a Summer Sabbath. 

Ascending the Taghconics, when we reached the 
" summit " — as the highest point of each road is here 
called — the broad valley of the Hudson burst uj^on 
us, as if by the withdrawal of a curtain. Before us 
lay outspread its countless farms, its wooded uplands. 



THE world's people. 121 

and the towering Kaatskills blue in the distance. To 
some of us the scene was not a new one, nor is it by 
any means the finest in grandeur or variety which can 
be had of this splendid valley. We saw neither Pali- 
sades nor highland shores ; the river itself, with its mag- 
nificent border of cities and towns, was hid from view. 
But I know not when I have been filled with emotions 
of such sublimity, as when looking down uf)on that 
wide, populous harvest-laden slope, white with the corn 
which was to give strength to nations, now lying there 
in the Sabbath's rest, while the grey old mountains 
stood above, clad in j)riestly robes of mist, as if ready 
to bestow their patriarchal blessing. It was a scene to 
which the most prosaic heart might well for once yield. 

Slowly descending the western slope of the Tagh- 
conics, we soon reached the Shaker village of New 
Lebanon — the capital of the Shaker world — the rural 
Vatican which claims a more despotic sway over the 
minds of men than ever Koman Pontiff assumed. 

We found the broad, level street, between the ramb- 
ling buildings of the village, completely blocked up 
with vehicles of all sorts, from Pittsfield and Lebanon 
Springs. Stage coaches, hacks, barouches, buggies, — 
every variety of carriage had brought its quota and 
variety of visitors. Portly citizens in the glossiest of 
broadcloths and most rubicund of faces, with massive 
watch seals and heavy, gold-headed canes ; hirsute ex- 
quisites, redolent of Broadway and eau de vie ; ladies, 
radiant in smiles and diamonds ; men, eminent in poli- 
tics, science, and literature ; belles, blues, and heiresses ; 
in short, they were a fashionable mob, in most of the 
paraphernalia of their order. And a queer contrast 
10* 



122 TAGHCONIC. 



tliey made to the place where they were collected; 
where all ornament was eschewed as the deadliest of 
sins, and beauty as the veriest of vanities — to be held 
in corresponding contempt, and studiously concealed 
under close fitting caps and hideous dresses. 

The church is a plain, angular edifice, without tower 
or spire, some eighty feet long by sixty broad, with its 
broadside to the street. It is a substantial clapboarded 
building, painted of a yellowish color, and with a 
rounded roof covered with tin, which glitters very 
brilliantly in the sunlight. With its green doors, and 
its grassy, enclosed court-yard, there is a simple, cheer- 
ful aspect about it, which, considering its locality and 
its builders, has a suspicious likeness to the beautiful. 

At either extremity of the front is a green door, 
labelled, the one "Males," the other "Females," — a 
laconic admonition to visitors, that being at Rome they 
are expected to do as the Romans do. Accordingly, 
parting from our lady friends, we entered the portal 
appropriated to the grosser part of humanity. 

The church within is as simjDle as its exterior prom- 
ises. A pleasant, airy, unpretending hall occupies the 
whole of the lower story. Bright green Venetian 
blinds shade the windows, and about one fourth of the 
floor is fitted up with comfortable raised seats, for the 
accommodation of spectators. The remainder is a 
clear, j^olished surface, reminding one of the travellers' 
stories of Dutch housewifery — which is always, indeed, 
more than rivalled by that of the Shakers. Here are 
ranged some plain deal benches, without backs. A 
huge sounding-board overhangs the whole, in order 
that nothing may be lost of the precious tones emitted 



A SHAKER MEETING. 123 

beneath it, — precious indeed, for there Heaven vouch- 
safes to hold direct intercourse with its chosen people. 

Several apertures in the upper part of the walls we 
at first took to be part of an apparatus for ventilation, 
but they proved to be ear holes for the eavesdropping 
of the " Lead," — that is, two male and two female 
elders, who dwell in inviolable seclusion in the second 
story of the sacred edifice. These august despots are 
much addicted to this species of the kingcraft of the 
First James, — but fortunately the people, in this case, 
have the advantage of knowing that they are watched. 

A door in each end of the hall completed the arrange- 
ments, and was attended by a queer looking janitor — 
a compound of Shaker saint and Yankee sexton. The 
seats for spectators were nearly filled when we entered, 
but the rest of the hall was unoccupied, and there was 
no Shaker to be seen, except the odd looking janitor. 

Presently a Shaker in full uniform appeared, and 
looked around the room with the air of a reconnoiter- 
ing officer, or more, perhaps, as you may have seen a 
stage manager or scene shifter, just before the rising of 
the curtain in a theatre. "When this forerunner retired 
I judged something was about to happen, and, having 
no seat to lose, went to the door to learn what it 
might be. 

I was not disappointed. The whole Shaker people 
were moving towards the church in procession, and the 
effect was very fine, — particularly of the women, who, 
dressed in spotless white, and moving with a noiseless 
tread along the quiet valley, reminded me of a proces- 
sion of white nuns. Indeed, so strongly did the fancy 
possess me that I caught myself listening for some old 



124 TAGHCONIC. 



^ 



melodious chant to break upon the stillness of the air. 
The company of drab colored men was much less pic- 
turesque, but came in well enough to fill up the unique 
scene, as did also the varnished carriages of the visitors, 
with their horses listlessly enjoying the morning rest, 
and the coachman lazily dosing upon his seat ; — a more 
comfortable personage does not exist than your true 
coachman waiting for his passengers ; few have learned 
so well the poet's lesson, " to labor and to wait." But 
the procession advanced, and I did not remain to have 
the romance of my first impressions destroyed, but 
returned to the hall before they came near. 

It was not long before the procession followed, and, 
after some slight preliminary formula, seated them- 
selves on the deal benches — the males upon the east, 
the females upon the west, facing each other. It is 
hard to describe, but easy to catalogue their costume. 
That of the males consisted of loose trousers, a long, 
straight vest, and a long, straight, shad-bodied coat, all 
of drab, and in the fashion of the times of the Revolu- 
tion. The costume of Houton's statue of Washington, 
at Richmond, Va., is not very different from that of a 
Shaker in full dress. 

The dress of the women was a long-waisted, narrow- 
skirted gown, innocent of the abomination of bustle ; 
high-heeled shoes, muslin neckerchief, and close fitting 
muslin caps, in all cases completely concealing the hair ; 
every part of the women's dress being in most cases of 
the purest white. Upon the left arm, which is bent at 
rio-ht angles across the breast, the women also carried 
conspicuously a white handkerchief. 

All this is minutely prescribed by the holy laws 



THE EJECTION. 125 



given by God at New Lebanon, in the year 1840, — of 
which " holy laws " I shall have more to say, presently. 
So much of the Shaker costume, but you can have little 
idea from it of the odd look of the performers, in the 
burlesque which was about to commence. 

Preliminary to the strictly religious exercises, a slab 
sided, hypocritical-looking individual came forward 
to enlarge upon the beauty of decorum; and, after 
complimenting the " world's people " on their good 
conduct in times past, to request a continuance of it. 
Truth to say, not only during the grimly ludicrous 
dances, but throughout a sermon which was far better 
fitted to provoke disgust and indignation, than any 
lighter feeling, the spectators maintained a wonderfully 
correct deportmen t. 

When this worthy had concluded his speech, a female 
specimen of elongated acidity went up to certain ladies 
who had introduced the world's custom of carrying 
babies into public assemblies, and removed without the 
sacred walls those delicate proofs of a departure from 
the cardinal point of Shaker morality. Oh, vinegar 
faced sister, how often in church and concert-room 
have we longed for a preventive police force like 
thine ! 

Quiet and propriety having thus been provided for, 
the Shakers prepared to violate both, in the legitimate 
way. The whole assembly rose and sang a hymn, 
accompanying the music by a singular motion of feet 
and hands, which gave the j^erformers a marked like- 
ness to a band of kangaroos. I could catch only two 
words of what appeared to be the burthen of the song, 
— " lovely virgins," being ejaculated violently at every 



126 



TAGHCONIC. 



turn of the stanza. What with the sonor and the sino;- 
ers, the eleven thousand virgins of Cologne came for- 
cibly to mind. " Lovely " indeed ! 

After the hymn, followed a nasal, droning prayer, — 
not very unlike that of other uneducated sectarians, — 
full of absurd, but perhaps unintentional, blasphemy ; 
pharisaic self-righteousness, and a sort of half pitiful, 
half spiteful concern for the souls of their neighbors. 
Then came more singing in the unknown tongue — an 
unintelligible gibberish — accompanied by spasmodic 
dances, promenades, and evolutions, very similar to 
those with which a country militia company astonishes 
the village boys. I must confess, however, that the 
performers here evinced a superior state of discipline, 
and very excellent drilling. 

Often a spirit of enthusiasm is wrought up by these 
performances, which surpasses all bounds. The actors 
whirl round with inconceivable rapidity, shout, leap, 
and finally fall in ecstatic trances ; but on this occasion 
something checked the usual fervor. 

The assembly at length resumed their seats, and the 
same sanctimonious individual who first addressed the 
meeting, again came forward, and turning his back full 
upon the saints, began a sermon directed exclusively at 
the world's people, — or the " children of corruption," 
as the elect charitably style us. 

It is hard to imagine what could have been the 
object of the preacher, in directing the mass of crudi- 
ties which he did, at such an audience as that before 
him. One can hardly conceive the degree of vanity 
which could lead him to expect to j^ervert any one of 
them to the galvanic religion of the saints who sat 



THE SERMON. 127 



behind him, twirling their thumbs in complaisant sto- 
lidity. On the other hand, the Shaker priesthood are 
far too shrewd to display wantonly the brazen impu- 
dence of this bold defender of their faith. I am in- 
clined to think that although nominally addressing the 
world's people, our preacher was all the while " whip- 
ping the Devil round the stump," and really was work- 
ing upon his brethren. Perhaps all the while he 
fancied he heard them saying, " Yea, verily, how our 
beloved prophet is confounding these men of vain lam- 
ing." 

And confound them he certainly did, for never was 
heard a more odious compound of blasphemous assump- 
tion, ignorance, and ludicrous sophistry. He began by 
claiming that the corruptions of the Middle Ages had 
so far destroyed the authenticity of the Holy Scrip- 
tures as to render a new revelation necessary ; and 
such a revelation he claimed that the Millennial Church 
possessed. He denounced, unmercifully, the errors of 
the Church of Rome, and proclaimed the Protestant 
churches children of that scarlet woman, and grand- 
children of the arch-fiend himself. 

Having thus fairly demolished the religious institu- 
tions of the world, he attacked the social, beginning at 
the holy estate of matrimony, — by way, I presume, of 
laying the axe at the root of the tree. You cannot 
imagine the filth which he heaped upon those who live 
in wedlock. McDowell never described the interior 
life of the lowest brothel in colors so revolting as those 
in which this cold-blooded hypocrite i^ainted the holy 
shrines of christian homes. I do not know but the out- 
ward life of this man may be pure, but sure I am that 



128 TAGHCONIC. 



the lieart which engenders such things must be full of 
seething corruption. 

There would have been something infinitely amusing 
in the whimsical deductions by which our theologian 
maintained his opinions, had they not been so hideously 
profane. Such wresting the Scriptures by main force, 
I never before met, in all my experience of theological 
controversy. For instance, the words of our Saviour, 
commencing, " I came not to bring peace but a sword," 
were coolly interpreted into a command that men should 
sever all the ties of parental, filial, social affection, 
blot out the sweet influences of family Hfe, and become 
like the spiritless beings in whom subjection to men of 
the speaker's kidney had destroyed all of soul that is 
destructible. In the relations of parent and child, of 
brother and sister, husband and wife, there are com- 
monly thought to be obligations of some sanctity ; but 
a stroke of Shaker logic annihilated them in a breath : 
" A man is a man," argued our preacher, " before he is 
a father, and therefore he may and should eradicate 
from his heart all affection for his own child, in prefer- 
ence to that of another ; a man is a man before he is a 
husband, and though he may love the woman " — in a 
Shakerly way, of course — " he must hate the wife." I 
do not recollect how the case of a child was disposed of, 
for certainly he is a child before he is a man ; but the 
preacher went on through the whole of the family 
relations. 

The burthen of the whole aflPair was the praise of 
celibacy and the abuse of wedlock, — which was 
treated in a way sufficiently scandalous, not to say 
indecent. Our philosopher did not, however, wish the 



THE SHAKERS. 129 



human race to become extinct, but he thought it might 
be propagated in a more decorous and less objection- 
able mode — which, however, he did not condescend 
to point out, although we were curious to know. The 
sort of monster a Shaker "Frankenstein" would create, 
would be worth one's while to see. 

Fatigued with this trash, I diverted myself by study- 
ing the faces of the Laity, and the lesson was more 
easily understood than the sermon. The men did not 
lack a certain air of vulgar intelligence. There was 
perhaps as healthful a hue in their cheeks as you Avill 
ordinarily see in a country congregation ; but the stolid 
sanctimony of the mass was very repulsive, and the 
lonely and desolate air of the old men was painful to 
see. I could not but contrast these last with the ven- 
erable fathers of the hamlet whom I used to look 
upon with so much reverence, in the village church of 
L., as they sat in their own pews, surrounded by chil- 
dren and grandchildren, or, in the crowded porch, 
returned the kindly and familiar greetings of their 
pastor. To those, who have considered well the mel- 
lowing influences of whatever reminds us of the vicis- 
situdes of life, it will not appear an indifferent matter 
that Shaker discipline destroys those distinctions in 
dress, which mark the mourner and the bride, the 
young man and the grey-haired sire, — even the matron 
and the child. 

A sad sight was -that, of the young girls cut off from 
all that sheds a charm and halo upon their years of 
maidenhood. It is some relief, however, to think 



that many of them will, in good time, recognize 
of] 
11 



the teachings of Mother Nature to be far better than 



130 TAGHCONIC. 



those of Motlier Ann, and, exclianging the Shaker garb 
for a bridal dress, flit away to the Sj^rings — Lebanon 
Springs, our Gretna Green. Still the sight is sad, for 
very few of the sisters, in their hideous apparel, show 
sufficient attractions to warrant a man in making his 
■way to them through the impediments which are here 
sure to beset the path of true love. Nevertheless, I 
earnestly recommend any young gentleman romantically 
inclined, to make the attempt, and so rescue at least 
one enchanted damsel from the den of these celibate 
dragons. Be sure there is beauty there, if you can but 
discern it. But, seriously, the sallow cheeks and the 
lacklustre eyes bear sad record of the violation of Na- 
ture's laws. From seat to seat the eye wanders almost 
in vain, in its search for a cheek of rose or a spark- 
ling eye ; with few exceptions, all is listless, forlorn 
inanition. 

The contrast in physical appearance, between the 
males and females, is very remarkable, and it is curious 
that Mrs. Kirkland has noticed one, exactly the reverse, 
between the priests and nuns of the papal church in 
Italy. " There is," she says, " a painful difference 
between the aspects of the priests and that of the nuns, 
in point of cheerfulness. The priests wear a look 
which cannot be called anything but sad. They have 
not the appearance of men satisfied with their lot in 
life, or who have found the best consolation for its ills. 
The nuns, on the contrary, — so far as our opportuni- 
ties for observation have extended, — were more cheer- 
ful than most women. The blood mantles in their 
cheeks ; their eyes light up easily ; they show you their 
precious things with an evident enthusiasm ; and when 



THE MONASTIC LIFE. 131 

you ask them if the recluse life is a happy one, they 
answer with such warmth and earnestness that you 
cannot doubt their sincerity. Perhaps it may be that 
women are more easily satisfied with a round of petty 
duties. Ambition is not the vice of their sex. The 
care of the poor and suffering, and the education of 
youth, fill up their lives and leave them no leisure for 
repining. "With the priests, it is easy to conceive mat- 
ters may be quite different."* 

The reason of this difference is not far to seek ; 
Mrs. Kirkland solves her problem in stating it. The 
Roman priesthood are men of cultivated minds, — 
many of them with a hearty contempt for their profes- 
sion, — some of them burning with the purest patriot- 
ism ; their aspirations are for something entirely other 
than their daily steps lead to. Longing, almost hope- 
lessly, for their own and Italy's better day, they should 
be sad. 

The nun has no such fruitless aspirations ; she be- 
lieves in the earnestness of her nuptials with the head 
of the Church. In her seclusion, she knows little of 
her country's wrongs ; she is cut off only nominally 
from social connection ; only conjugal love is forbidden 
her; father, mother, sister, brother, are regarded by 
her with an affection only the more intense, that they 
are separated from her. She is often more highly 
accomplished, more perfectly cultivated than her com- 
panions whom she left in the world ; she is surrounded 
by the masterpieces of painting and sculpture; she 
listens to the masterpieces of music ; she may read the 
masterpieces of at least Italian poetry and eloquence. 

* "Holidays Abroad," by Mrs. Kirkland; vol. II, p. 6. 



132 TAGHCONIC. 



Nor is she confined to " a round of petty duties ;" " the 
care of the poor and suffering, and the education of 
youth " are surely things very far removed from that. 
But one issue for the tenderness and sympathies of 
woman's nature is closed for her, and from more than 
one of woman's woes she is exempt. 

Let us look at the reverse contrast. The male 
Shaker is generally of the most limited information ; 
he has few or no aspirations beyond a comfortable sup- 
port in life ; the place of patriotism, love, ambition, are 
all suj)plied by self-righteousness, and in some by an 
escape from the responsibilities of life. Had he been 
left to the ordinary course of things, he would have 
ploughed, and sowed, and reaped ; being a Shaker, he 
does the same thing, only in rather a more farmer-like 
manner. He would have eaten, drunken, and slept ; 
and being a Shaker, he is more certain of doing the 
same all his life, in a comfortable, hearty manner. The 
main difference in so far, arises from the fact that he 
sleej)s alone, — and so falls into old age lonely, forlorn, 
and childless. In the heyday of his life, in the ordi- 
nary pursuits of his class, animated by superstition and 
a strong esprit du corps, he has all to which he is capa- 
ble of aspiring. Of course this applies only to the 
mass. There are men among them of shrewd intelli- 
gence, and even of polished manners. One can easily 
imagine motives which might induce such to bury them- 
selves in the shades of Hancock and Lebanon. 

The Shaker woman has a more melancholy lot. 
Love — "the first necessity of woman's nature" — 
is dwarfed, in her case, to most unnatural ugliness. 
She must renounce the natural affections; she must 



FEMALE SHAKERS. 133 

love none but her own unlovable associates. " Her 
brethren, according to the flesh," she must regard as 
outcast and vile. Her education must be confined to 
the narrowest possible limits ; " the arts, sciences, and 
letters, as ye call them," are expressly prohibited, by 
statute. Her music must be the noise I have to-day 
described ; if she reads, it must be only the senseless 
jargon of Shaker theology. Her occupations must be 
of the most petty nature ; in the pleasure which suits 
the busy, fretful housewife, in scrubbing and polishing, 
she may share to her heart's content ; she may and 
must go through the tiresome routine of e very-day 
duties as our country dames use. But when all is done, 
the fruit of her labor goes not to comfort or cheer her- 
self, her home, or her family. Food, clothing, and lodg- 
ing she undoubtedly has, — good, wholesome, and suffi- 
cient, — but it is only, whatever it may be called, as 
the bond servant of the Lead. With no hope of a 
to-morrow happier than to-day, the Shaker women toil 
on, cheerless and forlorn ; surely, nothing is less inex- 
plicable than their sallow and inane countenances. 

The sudden cessation of the speaker's voice, and the 
striking up of a quick, lively, camp-meeting tune, broke 
in upon my reveries, and the dance recommenced. 
Round and round the soulless, joyless rabble went; 
more spasmodic — more like a band of galvanized 
corpses — than before. There was evidently a des- 
perate attempt to work up an excitement ; but it was 
quite as evident that the spirit could, by no coaxing or 
driving, be persuaded to move. Plainly, there was no 
hope of whirling-gifts to-day. The presence of the 
faithless men and women of the world had, perhaps, 
11* 



134 TAGHCONIC. 



greater effect upon the nerves and tendons of the dan- 
cers than upon the tongue of the orator ; and, after a 
while, they gave over in despair, and took up their line 
of march for their homes, where, it is to be hoped, a 
substantial dinner awaited them, for the exercise must 
have given them a harvester's appetite. 
Thus ended a Shaker Meeting. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

NOTES ON SHAKER DOM. 

Thinking you may be interested in learning some- 
thing more of the strange people of whom I wrote you 
in my last, I have taken the pains to collect such infor- 
mation with regard to them as I could, from reliable 
sources. I have especially made use of a little book 
entitled, " Two Years among the Shakers," which was 
written by one Mr. Lamson. Tliis gentleman, in search 
of a better state of society, forsook our deformed social 
organization for the Community at Hopedale ; and, not 
finding there the Elysium for which he pined, flitted 
thence to the " City of Peace," in Hancock, Mass. 
Two years' experience quite convinced him that this 
was still farther from what he sought ; and so, with his 
wife Mary, who had faithfully followed him in all his 
wanderings, he returned to the world, — more recon- 
ciled, it is to be hoped, to strive after perfection with 
the generation of which it pleased his Creator to make 
him a part. 

However, aside from his disordered social notions, 
ISIi*. Lamson is a diligent and shrewd observer, with an 
honest desire to see correctly, and report fairly what 
he saw. In so far as he speaks from observation, he is 



136 TAGHCONIC. 



undoubtedly deserving of credit, and liis conclusions 
are generally plausible. 

HISTORY. 

The " Millennial Church " was founded in the year 
1747, by one James Wardwell and his Avife Jane, with 
a few other persons, mostly of the Quaker order. The 
tenets which they then held were derived from those 
preached nearly a century before, by certain enthusiasts 
among the Huguenots, styled the " French Prophets." 
Until the year 1758 the Shaker Church was in a very 
inchoate and precarious state, — being distinguished by 
few of those doctrines for which it is now peculiar. 

In this latter year, however, they were joined by 
Ann Lee — a coarse and illiterate woman — the daugh- 
ter of one Manchester blacksmith and the wife of 
another; from the latter of whom she separated, 
after having borne him four children, all of whom died 
in infancy. She is represented to have been very in- 
temperate, and in the constant use of profane and 
obscene language. Yet, by the masculine energy of her 
mind, she soon acquired a controlling influence in the 
infant sect, and induced the aged Wardwells to yield 
up to her the " Lead." 

Assuming now the title of Mother, — which Jane 
Wardwell had before borne, — she introduced the doc- 
trine of celibacy, and organized the church government, 
under the style of "The Mother Ann, and the Elders 
with her." Afterwards, reluctantly, as it is said, at the 
instigation of the Elders, she proclaimed that the 
Millennium had commenced, and that Christ had 
made his second appearance upon earth, in her own 



HISTORY OF THE SHAKERS. 137 

person. In the year 1774, Mother Ann, with the 
wealthiest of her followers, found it expedient to emi- 
grate to America, — and arrived at New York on the 
16th of August, in that year. By the advice of some 
Quakers they proceeded at once up the Hudson, to 
Niskeyund, now Watervliet, where they have ever 
since maintained a society. In 1780, an exciting revi- 
val of religion called them to New Lebanon, where 
they gathered their portion of the harvest of souls, and 
established the society at that place, which is now the 
most flourishing in the world, and the seat of the Chief 
Pontificate. In that year 1780, the Shaker leaders 
were suspected of treason, and thrown into prison at 
Poughkeepsie, but Gov. Clinton immediately ordered 
their release. This pseudo persecution, however, helped 
on their cause, — and Mother Ann and the Elders, trav- 
elling wherever inducements were held out, established 
Societies in Massachusetts, Maine, Pennsylvania, and 
other states. 

In 1784, Mother Ann died, — which, it might have 
been supposed, would put an end to her divine preten- 
sions. She is, however, still regarded as a second 
incarnation of the Word, and revered by all true Sha- 
kers, — as the Son is by Orthodox Christians. 

Before departing from the world, she had appointed 
James Whitaker her successor, or rather her vicar, 
upon earth ; and from that day to this, a succession of 
similar rulers have administered the government, — 
" bringing the people into order," and from time to time 
adding new tenets to their creed, and new command- 
ments to their code, dictated, as they claim, by Divine 
inspiration. 



138 TAGHCONIC. 



GOVERNMENT. 

The Shaker Government is a theological despotism ; 
holding in abject submission the body, mind, and heart 
of its subjects, — and regulating every thought, word, 
and action, from the most awful subjects of meditation 
down to the cutting of the hair and the posture in bed. 

The First Elder at New Lebanon, as successor of 
Mother Ann, is supreme ruler throughout the world, in 
all things spiritual and temporal ; every command issued 
by him is regarded as emanating directly from Jehovah, 
and is obeyed with a corresponding implicitness. All 
other rulers and governments, throughout the earth, are 
regarded as rebels against the authority of Heaven. 
Yet they accept the protection of the law of the land, 
and often appeal to it in their dealings with the world's 
people. 

The First Elder at New Lebanon appoints a Second 
Elder, and also a First and Second Eldress, — all of 
whom he has power to depose at will. These four 
compose the " Ministry," or " Holy Lead." They ap- 
point a subordinate ministry, similarly organized, in 
every Society of Shakers in the world ; and this sub- 
ordinate ministry is strictly accountable to the " Lead," 
at the " Head of Litluence," but have unlimited power 
over the laity of their respective charges. Li each 
Family, again. Family Elders are appointed, with 
power over the members of the household. A Family 
you must understand to mean, in Shaker parlance, a 
collection of as many persons as can comfortably live 
in a house about the size of some of our large fac- 
tory boarding-houses, — say fifty or more. Thus three 



SHAKER GOVERNMENT. 139 

grades of despots are established over the saints, from 
whom they receive prompt and unquestioning obedi- 
ence in all matters whatever. 

You will naturally ask, in what manner such dominion 
is maintained. The natural machiavelism of the Lead 
is remarkable. They have some art by which to gov- 
ern every mind ; or, when that fails, to drive the rebel 
from their fold. Over the great mass, especially of 
those brought up among them, ignorance, superstition, 
and an utter inaptitude for self-reliance, are sufficiently 
powerful restraints ; in other cases, favor, flattery, minor 
offices, and hope of succession to the Lead, operate. 
Others, again, are broken down men of the world, 
weary of unsuccessful effort and only desirous of quiet. 
Fear of hunger here, and eternal perdition hereafter, 
with perhaps some spiritual pride, controls the mass. 
Fear of expulsion to the cold charities and weary 
efforts of the world, induces at least outward obedience 
from the few. 

The Holy Lead live in sacred privacy, in the second 
story of the church building. They never associate 
with the rest of the fraternity, but, although when not 
engaged in official duties expected to work with their 
hands, they have separate workshops, — one for the 
males and one for the female Elders, — where the com- 
monalty are never allowed to enter, except when sum- 
moned; and even the inferior Elders may never come, 
unless upon important business. Into the sacred dwell- 
ing houses, not even the subordinate Elders may ever 
enter. 

Although dwelling in the church building, the Lead 
do not take their meals there, but at the house of the 



140 TAGHCONIC. 



" Church Family," the upper-tendoin of Shaker land. 
Even here they do not dine with the Family ; but a 
table is laid for them, in a separate room, where 
they eat in solitary grandeur. When they condescend 
— as they sometimes do — to dine with other Fam- 
ilies, the same magnificent state is maintained. On 
other occasions the Lead visit the Families, when they 
retire at once to the Elders' rooms. The Family are 
then collected in the hall; the Lead come forth, are 
formally introduced, and address the people in a style 
of official affection, — perhaps not very different, in 
substance, from that of more polished Bishops. 

THEOLOGY. 

The Shaker Theology is altogether a new thing under 
the sun, and may be new again to-morrow or next 
week — for one of the Elders assured Mr. Lamson that 
this doctrine of the Godhead was " a growing thing in 
the world." The Shaker Deity is neither a Trinity 
nor a Unity, but a Duality, or better, perhaps, a Quar- 
tette, consisting of The Father and Holy Mother Wis- 
dom with their son and daughter, Christ and Mother 
Ann Lee. These last again are the parents of the 
new or spiritual creation. In like manner they dualise 
the principal of evil, and derive from it a world full of 
evil spirits. 

HOLY LAWS AND ORDER BOOK. 

Formerly Laws and Creed came orally from the 
Lead, as occasion demanded, and as in all official acts 
they are supposed to be inspired, all was regarded as of 



SHAKER DIVINITY. 141 

Divine Authority. But, a few years ago, something 
more imposing was deemed desirable, and, at the inter- 
cession of Mother Ann Lee, God revealed His Laws 
at New Lebanon in 1840. They are written in twenty 
chapters, fourteen of Avhich were read aloud by Elder 
James Whitaker — spiritually, of course, for Elder 
James died fifty years ago — to the human instrument 
who wrote them down. The other six were delivered 
by the Holy Recording Angel, and recorded in the 
same way. A supplement called the " Order Book," 
has since been added ; it goes more into detail, but is 
of equal authority with the Holy Laws. A copy of 
each, in manuscript, is deposited with the Family 
Elders, and read aloud to the people on Christmas 
day, and three times on Mother Ann's birth day. For 
the rest of the year it is kept under lock and key, in 
accordance with directions contained in the laws them- 
selves. 

The mode in which the Shaker God establishes his 
laws, is the most unique thing about them, and singu- 
larly in contrast with the "Thus saith the Lord" of 
Holy Writ. The Omniscient, we are told, distrustful 
of His own work, at the close expressly provides that 
" So these things shall be, if your Holy Lead approve ; 
if your Holy Lead, in their Holy wisdom with wdiich I 
have anointed them, give them their union," that is, 
approval, — in which case " Let them affix thereunto 
their hands and seals ; " which was doubtless done. 

The Lead may also, at discretion, set aside any Di- 
vine Law, — as is often done with regard to dress, and 
the use of spirituous liquors ; and as Mr. Lamson 
thinks, occasionally in the matter of sexual intercourse. 
12 



142 TAGHCONIC. 



EDUCATION. 

On the subject of education these laws are curiously 
l^recise. Something like schools the statutes of Massa- 
chusetts insist there must be, even in Shakerdom ; and 
by the Shaker laws it is provided that in them may be 
taught Reading, Writing, a little Arithmetic, a little 
Geography, and a little Grammar, Chemistry, Phi- 
losophy, and the whole tribe of onomies and ologies are 
sweepingly forbidden, together with the Fine Arts. 
As some doubts might arise in the minds of a scrupu- 
lous teacher, as to how much a " little " of the pre- 
scribed studies might be, it is further explained that " it 
is better to know too little than too much," — in fact, I 
suspect that the less the better, for the purposes of the 
Lead. The favored few, who are destined to rule and 
prophecy, do doubtless, however, go much further. I 
have some reason to know that Philemon Stuart, the 
Chief Prophet at New Lebanon, is a reader of the 
works of Andrew Jackson Davis, and the series of 
works published by Fowler & Wells, in New York. 

GIFTS AND REVELATIONS. 

A gift, in the Millennial language, is something, any- 
thing which the favored individual receives from some 
one of the Godhead, some distinguished saint, or, per- 
haps, one of the prophets. Many great personages in 
history have, since death, been spiritually baptised into 
the church, and are counted high saints in the Shaker 
calendar. Among others, are Napoleon, Tamerlane, 
Generals Jackson and Harrison, Pockahuntus, and King 
Philip of the Wampanoags. Generals Washington and 



SHAKER POETRY. 143 



Lafayette are especial favorites, and are often seen by 
the gifted ones, mounted on white chargers, and keep- 
ing guard over the Mount Sinai in Hancock. 

A " gift " may be either moral, as more faith, hope, 
love, and the like ; or it may be the spiritual receiving 
of some natural object, as clothing, fruit, wine, — in 
which case the recipient goes through in pantomime the 
same motions as if he actually received the thing spirit- 
ually discerned ; instances will be given in the account 
of a mountain meeting. Sometimes the gift is a revela- 
tion in prose or verse, in which case the seer sings or re- 
cites it ; but it is for the Lead to say whether it is from 
above or below — true or false. Care is also taken to 
provide in the holy laws that no times or season shall 
be set for the fulfillment of any prophecy. 

I must give you some specimens of these Shaker gifts 
in verse. Here is one from "Job of old," to whom 
it seems the waters of the river of life have not proved 
quite a Helicon. Few will think them equal to some 
remarks of his recorded in the Old Testament. 



" You 've much to suffer, much to bear, 

In body hero I know, 
But if you 're faithful you shall share 

My blessing as you go. 
Be wise, my child, in all your way, — 

Be careful what you speak, — 
Be on your guard, both night and day. 

And labor to be meek." 



Another, in the unknown tongue 



" que won wister wa, 
We quon questa ka. 
Quo con vister we. 
Wo zon zane ke, 



144 TAGHCONIC. 



Que wain wisna quo, 
Se nain quisna woo, 
We saiu win no haw, 
Ka ween na na Wah." 



Another, half and half: 



" Te he, te how, te hoot te te hoot, 
Me be mother's pretty papoose. 
Me ting, me dance te I diddle um, 
Because me here te whities come." 



And so on, by the dozen pages. 

All are supposed to be sung through the instrument 
or medium, by the spirit of some departed saint. 

From the region in which they originated, and from 
great similarity in their character, I have no doubt the 
" spiritual rappings " now in vogue had their root in 
Shakerism. The Millennial Church have always 
claimed to hold communion with the unseen world. 

MOUNTAIN MEETINGS. 

About the year 1841, a special revelation was re- 
ceived, through the " instrument " at Lebanon, com- 
manding all the societies of " our Zion upon earth " 
to select a spot upon some mountain or hill near their 
respective villages, for a Most Holy Place of Worship. 
Accordingly, the brethren at Hancock, following the 
guidance of an angel, and armed with pickaxes, spades, 
and like instruments, marched, one day, up the hill 
which is now called Mount Sinai, and came to a halt 
upon the place which the angel designated. Here they 
at once fell to work, and, having cleared about a third 
of an acre of stones, trees, and rubbish, graded it in 
that perfect manner characteristic of all Shaker work. 



MOUNTAIN MEETINGS. 145 

This i^lat was afterwards surrounded with a plain, 
white strip fence, and a lower fence erected around a 
small space in the centre, in the form of a flattened 
hexagon. This latter is called the fountain, and is 
fabled to be filled with spiritual water, for the cleansing 
of the nations. Within it is a marble slab, some four 
feet high, with an inscription stating that it was placed 
there by command of the Lord Jesus Christ, — and 
much more. 

This stone, and the wild processions up the moun- 
tain, have given rise to the popular story, that the 
Shakers one night hunted the Arch Fiend up the 
mountain, and there having slain and buried him, 
danced around his grave in triumph. It is not unlikely 
that in some of their Walpurgis revels they may have 
performed some such heroic feat — for nothing is 
foreign to, nor incredible of. Shaker superstition ; but 
if so, it was only a single performance, and not the 
staple of the mountain meetings ; nor has it any con- 
nection at all with the marble slab. 

I gave you in my last, some account of a common 
Sunday meeting ; these, however, are tame affairs when 
compared with the riotous spiritual feasts on the moun- 
tain tops. These are the great festivals of the sect; 
old men and children, young men and maidens, are 
alike elated with the idea of going on to the hill top. 
All Shakerdom is agog ; the strong and healthy walk ; 
the sick and feeble brave the dangers of a venturesome 
ride up the steep ascent. 

Before starting, each person receives a spiritual 
dress of the most fanciful splendor. A tunic of scarlet, 
gorgeous with gold buttons, lace, and bullion, together 
12* 



146 TAGHCONIC. 



with a full dress of a corresponding magnificence, 
adorns each individual of the procession. All this, it 
must be understood, is entirely spiritual, and visible 
only to gifted eyes. It is, however, donned with none 
the less seriousness ; article by article it is taken from 
a visionary chest by an Elder, and gravely received by 
the wearer, — while, to prevent awkward adjustments, 
two little angels stand near, by way of valets de cham- 
hre, or lady's maids. 

Thus splendidly arrayed, the procession moves up 
the hill until it reaches the " Walnut Grove." Here 
they spend some thirty minutes in preparatory exer- 
cises, and then move on again, until they reach the 
holy ground, when each makes seven low obeisances 
and enters upon it. 

These meetings are designed to be peculiarly free, 
lively, and impressive ; here the spirit of the Millennial 
Church displays itself without reserve, and a special 
outpouring of the spiritual gifts is always expected. 
There is preaching, praying, singing, prophecying, dan- 
cing, whirling, twisting, and all manner of contortions. 
The chief attractions, however, are the " gifts,"^ — of 
which I shall give you a couple of specimens. Perhaps 
a sister is " under operations," and exclaims, " Oh ! 
Mother Ann is here, and sends her love to the brothers 
and sisters." 

" What is it like ?" asks an Elder. 

" Oh ! like little bright, shining balls," answers the 
inspired sister ; and forthwith she commences tossing 
the little airy nothings among the crowd, who all strive 
to catch them, with the most ludicrous earnestness. 
Then, perhaps, a brother shouts, " There is sponge and 



MOUNTAIN MEETINGS. 147 

towels in the fountain, for the people to bathe ; " and 
all go through a pantomimic bathing, — much in the 
style and with all the unction of Charlotte Cushman, 
in the hand washing scene in " Macbeth." 

At noonday a great feast is held. The anointed 
seers go forth to shake imaginary trees, whence they 
gather invisible oranges, grapes, figs, and all manner of 
delicious fruit, — • to do which on the Berkshire hills, in 
a backward Spring, one would say requires a pretty 
vigorous fancy. The anointed pick up the fruit in bas- 
kets, and placing them, with mutual aid, on their should- 
ers, stagger under the load to the invisible tables, where 
it is arrayed with other delicate viands prepared in the 
same way. Around the table are now placed real deal 
seats, — the imagination, even after going through all 
this, not being strong enough to sustain two hundred 
gross weight of Shaker saint. 

All being seated, — except the anointed seers, who 
wait upon the others, — they eat and are filled with 
ideal food, they drink and are drunken with ideal wine. 
By enlarging the number of revellers, the description 
of the Barmecide feast, in the " Arabian Nights Enter- 
tainments," would be perfect for a Shaker feast on the 
Berkshire hills. 

The dinner being over, the revellers are called upon 
to pay their tithes ; that is : the gifted ones, being 
seated at the imaginary table, the others wait upon 
them, while the same mummery is gone through as 
before. 

With much more of this sort of thing, the day wears 
out, and the performers return to the matter-of-fact 
duties of every day life. 



148 TAGHCONIC. 



I might give you pages more of peculiarities of this 
sort, but with this brief abstract of only a few of them, 
space compels me to close. 

I beseech you, my philosoiAical friend, to consider 
well the phenomena they present. 



CHAPTER XY. 

THAT EXCURSION TO GREYLOCK.* 

You have asked me to describe to you my visit of 
last Summer to Greylock, and I have promised to com- 
ply with your request — but now that I have the paper 
before me, and attempt to fulfil my promise, I am sen- 
sible how inadequate words of mine are to describe 
what I there saw ; and I can more fully than ever 
before feel the truth of those lines of Wordsworth : 



' Ah ! that beauty, varying in the light 
Of living Nature, cannot be portrayed 
By words, nor b3' the pencil's silent skill, 
But is the property of him alone 
Who hath beheld it, noted it with care, 
And in his heart recorded it with love." 



To all those who may read this letter I would say — 
go to Greylock, see it and commune with it yourselves, 
for no description can give you an idea of the vast 
reality. I trust, too, that when you go, it may be in 
company with friends such as those with whom it was 
my lot to visit the Mountain, — for kindred mind, taste, 
and feeling are essential in companions viewing together 
the beautiful and grand, — such companionship, indeed, 

* A friend has kindly favored me with this spirited description of an excur- 
sion to the most lofty mountain in Massachusetts. 



150 TAGHCONIC. 



must at all times add greatly to our enjoyment ; but 
under no circumstances is it so much felt, so much I 
may say of a necessity, as when our thoughts are ex- 
alted by gazing on some great work of Nature. And I 
know of few things which create a more permanent 
bond of friendship between persons of kindred mind, 
than being associated together at such times. But to 
my promise. Greylock is by far the most interesting 
of all the mountains in our vicinity. It is the highest, 
and the most frequented, on account of the surpassingly 
fine view which its summit affords, overlooking, as it 
does, some of the most varied and beautiful scenery in 
the northern States. Nor must it be forgotten, in 
enumerating the claims of this mountain to distinction, 
that it serves as a sort of everlasting barometer to the 
whole surrounding country, affording, at all times, a 
sure guide as to the prospective state of the weather. 
Seldom does a pic-nic party set off in this region, with- 
out first looking toward old Greylock for encourage- 
ment ; and if, after they have started, they see the clouds 
gathering around its summit, they delay not to gather 
up their baskets, and fly with all speed to a safe retreat 
from the storm which they know is impending. Thus 
is old Grandfather Whitehead consulted by all the 
neighborhood, for information as to sunshine or storm ; 
and one thus learns to feel for him a sort of affection, or 
rather a neighborly feeling, before visiting him and 
making his acquaintance on still more intimate terms. 

The best point from which to start on the ascent of the 
mountain, is Williamstown, though many choose North 
Adams. The reason for preferring the former place, is, 
that the hotels there are better provided with civil 



EXCURSION TO GREYLOCK. 151 

attendants and intelligent guides, than at North Adams. 
On the occasion of our ascent, most of the party went 
from North Adams, and found much cause to repent of 
the choice, — while a few, who differing from the main 
body, went up from Williamstown, fared much better 
than we did ; and in the foregoing remarks, therefore, 
I merely give the result of our own experience. 

The pathway up the mountain side is rough, but 
filled with beauty ; and some of the openings in the 
woods almost persuade one that the days of fairy gam- 
bols are not yet past, but that in these spots, in these 
very rings of fresh, green grass — so fresh and green 
that they seem just to have awakened from their 
"Winter sleep — the elfin revels must still be nightly 
held. One little wild wood circle I shall never forget, 
formed by fir trees so densely shaded with thick foliage 
as to exclude a single peep from the bright face of Sol ; 
while the grass thus growing was of a light moss color, 
of that peculiar green seldom to be found, except in 
small tufts, by a shady brook side. And then the 
silence and repose of the place had the effect of awing 
one, as it were, and making one superstitious, in spite 
of one's self. A shout from our party in advance dis- 
turbed our reveries, and no doubt put to flight the elves 
themselves, who were at that moment coming to occupy 
their room of state, — for I feel sure that had we 
remained only a little while longer, we should have 
seen more than the pen of the author of " Pilgrims of 
the Rhine " has yet been able to describe, of forest 
fairy gaycty. 

We follow the sound of voices from our friends 
ahead, and on coming up to them are surprised into 



152 TAGHCONIC. 



forgetfulness of the beauty we have regretfully left, for 
here another scene bursts upon us, as we turn a little 
aside from the pathway, and, like "Aladdin, or the 
"Wonderful Lamp," we leave one garden of enchant- 
ment only to enter another of greater beauty. Oh, 
this world of ours ! how filled it is with objects which 
elevate and ennoble our thoughts and affections, — if 
we but seek for them where we ought ! Amid Gjod's 
works how sure are we to feel. 



" O God ! O good bej'oncl compare ! 
If these, Thy meaner works, are fair, — 
If thus Thy bounties gild the span 
Of ruined earth and sinful man. 
How glorious must the mansions be 
Where Thy redeemed shall dwell with Thee !" 



The sun is getting low, and we have still a long steep 
to climb ; so, after we have refreshed ourselves with a 
drink from a rill of s^Darkling clear water, we begin 
our ascent with renewed zest. The beauty about us 
sufficing us for food, — for, save our sup of Adam's ale 
we have tasted nothing since an early breakfast, at 
starting, — totally is the world below us now forgotten. 
Dinner is supplied by our pass-word, "Excelsior." 
Some of us linger to gather the wild flowers that are 
growing plentifully about us, and constantly, by their 
beauty, beguile us from our path ; suddenly we are 
startled by shouts which echo through the wood like the 
yells of the red men, and one of our party, with the 
agility of a well trained sailor (as he was) soon ascends 
the trunk of a tall tree, and from a seat which aj^pears 
to us dangerously insecure, echoes shout for shout, till 
the remaining few of our party, M'ho had come by way 



GRETLOCK. 153 



of Williamstown, make their appearance ; and as they 
stop to tell us of the good dinner which they j^artook 
of at that place, we begin to feel a degree of curiosity 
to see what the contents of the baskets with which they 
are well provided are ; so, casting our glance forward, 
we resolve not to turn to the right or left till we gain 
the mountain top, — nor with this resolution are we 
long in so doing. 

The scene below us is somewhat dimmed by an Au- 
gust evening's haze, which mellows, though it circum- 
scribes, our view, and adds beauty to what was already 
too beautiful for description. Far off in the distance 
we see the hills around our own home mountains, as we 
call them there, but here appearing as gentle undula- 
tions, above the otherwise level surface of the ground. 
Still farther off and still more dimly seen, rises the 
range of the Kaatskills, with the noble Hudson mir- 
rored at their base. Fill up the picture with a fertile 
country, dotted with villages and mountain lakes, and 
beautifully interspersed with woodland, and you have, 
if your imagination is sufficiently vivid, the scene that 
lay before us. Silently we gaze and drink in the 
beauty by which we are surrounded on all sides, till 
the first impressions of awe and wonderment having in 
a measure subsided, sly, furtive glances are cast, by the 
less romantic of our party, towards the baskets which 
have been companions of our ascent. Soon more active 
measures are taken, and the claims of hunger now 
fairly prevailing over us all, we sit down to a suj^per 
which the gods and goddesses on Olympus might have 
envied. Oh, 4he luxury of a good appetite, and food 
to satisfy it ! 

13 



154 TAGHCONIC. 



Night is now coming on, and all objects about us 
begin to have a shadowy, spectral appearance. So a 
large fire is lighted under a giant stump, and we gather 
about it, each one indulging, like Ik Marvel, in his own 
reveries. At length the moon begins to rise, and as 
her silver sheen appears above the horizon, we grow 
eloquent, and her potent spell brings out our poetical as 
well as romantic thoughts. Absent friends are remem- 
bered with a sigh, and as we turn to those next us, to 
share our thoughts, we feel that "mind may act on 
mind, though bodies be far divided." 

The moon, as if conscious how intently we were 
watching her, rose more majestically than usual, and 
the light clouds, as they coquetted about her, had 
more beauty and assumed more variety of shape 
than we had ever before observed in them. Here we 
sat till long past midnight, and so intensely were we 
enjoying the wildness of the scene as to forget that 
sleep was " Nature's kind restorer." But some of the 
more prudent of our party urged us to seek rest. 
Retiring, therefore, to the Tower (a ricketty structure) 
on the mountain top, we betake ourselves to the so 
called rest, and a more ludicrous scene never presented 
itself to my mind, than that of our party, now pre- 
pared for sleeping during the remainder of the night. 
Some sitting upright, against the sides of the building ; 
some stretched upon the planks of the floor, which had 
been raised so as to form a sort of inclined plane ; some 
with their hats drawn over their faces ; some more 
careful to preserve the line of beauty and grace, were 
drawn up like a cat in a chimney corner, thus exhibiting 
the efiect of the double curve ; while a few, too merry 



NIGHT AND MORNING. 155 

for sleep, remained standing, lookers-on in this strangely 
sorted bed-chamber. A dim light from one candle 
served to render visible about enough of each figure to 
distinguish it, and to throw out the evident discomfort 
of the sleepers, at resting in so rude a place. But 
how absurd it is, when parties go on such wild excur- 
sions as this one was, to expect reserve, or any of the 
etiquette of refined life. 

The morning soon dawned, and, to our great disap- 
pointment, the sunrise was obscured by a heavy mist. 
Yet we were amid the clouds, and had the rain poured 
down a deluge, it had not damped more than our 
clothing, — for, with spirits gay as larks, we ascended 
to the top of the Tower, so as to obtain a better view 
than we had been able to get, on the preceding evening. 
But the mist continued to roll along the valley below, 
and the clouds to envelope us above, for some time ; 
gradually, like a dissolving view, the vapory veil begun 
to be withdrawn, and the sunshine to illuminate and 
animate Nature. " Glorious ! glorious ! " resounded on 
all sides ; and glorious indeed was the scene, as the sun 
suddenly revealed the world of beauty below us ; — 
dense masses of clouds and vapor, rolling along and 
assuming in their changes all forms and hues, fantastic 
as well as grand. 

Here we see a cathedral, with the light streaming 
through its colored windows ; there the Colosseum ; 
and again a mass of cloud, so gloriously gilded by the 
morning rays as to make it too beautiful and grand to 
be compared to any work of man, or earthly object ; 
and we could have wished to linger there always, 
watching the Protean changes as they passed before us. 



156 TAGHCONIC. 



But would our feelings have remained as joyous as 
they then were? The air seemed truly to have a 
most exhilarating influence ; and could our temperance 
friends have seen us then, they might almost have been 
induced to frame a new " Maine Law," placing moun- 
tain air on the same footing as intoxicating drinks. 
Happily, however, we felt no ill effects, as a conse- 
quence of this new phase of intemperance, but partook 
of a hearty breakfast, with an appetite and relish such 
as only mountain air can give. Our chickens were 
broiled on red-hot stones, a worthy divine acting as 
chief cook on the occasion ; and the ashes and charmed 
coals which cling to them, and the primitive fashion in 
which we were obliged to eat them, only served to 
make us enjoy the meal with greater zest and mirthful- 
ness. 

After breakfast we began our journey homewards, 
yet, like Lot's wife, casting many a lingering look 
behind, — and at each step down our steep pathway, 
losing some of our gay-heartedness ; for we felt that 
we were going back to the world, with its iron rule 
which cramps and confines our best and purest feelings. 
But at home again, home comforts about us, and amid 
the usual routine of life, we remember our journey as 
a pleasant pause in life, a shrine for memory to return 
and refresh itself at, when cares and trials make us 
weary. 

Again I would say, go to Grey lock. " Commune 
with your own heart, and be still." 



CHAPTER XVI. 

ABOUT OUR CATTLE SHOW. 

The Festival of all festivals, the two clays for which, 
in the opinion of our rural population, all other days in 
the round year were made, are those of the Cattle 
Show and Fair of the County Agricultural Society. 
This is the shining goal of the year's race. Dreaming 
of a silver cup, or at least " honorable mention," at the 
great anniversary, the farmer tills his soil, tends his 
flocks and herds, and is careful for many things, in sun- 
shine and storm. For the same momentous occasion 
the busy fingers of his wife and daughters are plied, — 
while in the dairy, cleanliest receptacles are filled with 
balls of golden-hued butter, and cylinders of odorous 
cheese. In chambers, too, quaintly variegated needle- 
works bud and blossom, and snowy webs issue from the 
antique loom. 

Nor do the taper fingers of more dainty ladies disdain 
to contend for the silver spoons ; while retired gentle- 
men of fortune take a notable pride in the display of 
luscious fruit and mammoth vegetables. 

The village beaux prize the day as an occasion for 

the exhibition of superior gallantry; and the village 

magnates aspire to the offices in the gift of the Society 

as no small distinctions in themselves, and possibly — 

13* 



158 TAGHCONIC. 



pardon the suspicion — as stepping-stones to more sub- 
stantial honors. Few among us but are at least ama- 
teurs in agricultural affairs, so that when the great 
festival of Ceres approaches, our mountain Microcosmos 
is all agog with excitement. 

The country around is in a ferment of preparation. 
Now is the harvest of the village tailors ; now the 
paraphernalia of the village belles is cunningly reno- 
vated ; ah ! if we could take a sly peep beneath the 
arcana of the fair artificers' hearts, what murderous 
designs might be revealed ! I think I see them now, 
amid a wilderness of chintz, and delaine, and calico, 
and ribbons, — a smile in their eyes and a blush on 
their cheeks, planting a grace here, revealing a seducing 
luxury there ; sewing a Cupid into every fold, and pre- 
paring a snare in every treacherous ribbon. Ah ! 
wicked demoiselles ! 

Long before the appointed day, partners are secured 
for the ride to town — not without coquetry, heart 
burnings, and, it may be, bitter tears in secret places. 
There is much significance in this excursion to the fair ; 
it is our sweet St. Valentines, when the gay rover takes 
occasion to signify he shall roam no more. Then, if 
there chance to be some deserted rival, comes the rush 
of hot passions, — for, with all the holy calm we prate 
of, they are as rife in the veriest hamlet on our hills, as 
in any city of the land. Let him who feels the hot 
hand of passion on him, thank God if he can fly to 
crowds and the mad whirl of the city, and so escape 
the demon — but tremble if he alone must in solitude 
combat the fiend, with the cold stars above him, from 
which no angel will descend to his aid, and only the 



A RAINY DAY. 159 



calm lake near, which seems to invite to rest. God 
forgive him if he seek it there ! 

Well ! what with their mutual delight, and the envy 
of rivals, the happy couple are hapj^y, and you — if 
you chance to meet them jogging cosily along the 
road — do not smile too disdainfully, but consider, 
weddings, and their interminable line of consequents, 
are likely to be the end of it. Odd ! is it not ? Out of 
the rustic amour, at which the high-bred, high bedi- 
zened Nothing smiles, come Robert Burns, Oliver 
Cromwells, Daniel Websters, with all their mighty 
words and deeds. 

But our festival approaches, and the bustle around 
us is increasing. The weather gets to be a subject of 
deep interest ; almanacs which predict " much — rain 
— about — this — time," are in ill repute. Weather- 
wise old ladies, who love to prophecy smooth things, 
are in high favor ; while all vinegar-faced crones are 
looked upon with a regretful reminiscence of the good 
old laws against witchcraft. 

In the week preceding the Cattle Show of the present 
year, more eyes were turned heavenward than usual — 
without, however, any extraordinary amount of piety. 
There were alarming portents in the skies ; an ugly 
halo encircled the moon ; mists hung dubiously about 
Greylock ; fearful things were told by the weather- 
lochs of the Taghconics ; the gathering clouds flaunted 
angry "mares' tails" far up the western sky; every 
thing foretold a storm, and the storm did not fail to 
come. 

On the day before the Fair the rain fell in torrents ; 
and the next morning dawned dim, dreary, and driz- 



160 TAGHCONIC. 



zling, with an occasional brisk shower, by way of enliv- 
enment. Yet the town was akeady filling up with 
visitors. All the preceding day you might have met 
frequent upon the road httle droves of fine oxen, beau- 
tiful Juno-eyed cows, and, led by a ring in the nose, 
bulls of celebrity, with an air of surpassing obstinacy. 
You might have passed, as well, uncomfortable looking 
muttons, of enormous fleece, packed in rough, wooden 
cages ; or, you might have stared at some marvellously 
prolific sow, surrounded by her progeny. 

" Trigenta capltum foetus enixa jacebat; 
Alba solo recubans, albi circum ubera nati." 

All night long such pastoral processions tramj)ed the 
muddy road, and increased on the dismal morning of 
the first of October. At an early hour, venerable an- 
cestral vehicles and modernly ingenious contrivances for 
locomotion, of the oddest possible kinds, began to dump 
down squads of dripping passengers all about the 
streets. Hardy belles, with skirts tucked up in liberal 
folds, exhibiting something more than ancles, strode 
fearlessly through the mud, while their gallants followed 
after, with many a rueful glance at their bespattered 
broadcloth. Those who brought wares betook them- 
selves to the Society's halls, to superintend their ar- 
rangement ; mere pleasure seekers — miserably mis- 
taken pleasure seekers — went strolling lugubriously 
about, or congregated dismally in the steamy parlors of 
the hotels. 

But the day was not to be all so gloomy. At noon 
the clouds rolled darkly away over the Hoosac, and the 
sun burst gloriously forth upon the drenched earth. 



THE CATTLE SHOW. 161 

Prettier faces and neater forms began to appear among 
the crowd, and, now and then, a dashing equipage, 
warmed out by the sun like a butterfly, rolled along the 
street. We followed the living current to the centre 
of attraction, — the show of cattle, — where, stationed 
around a large field, we found our four-footed friends 
of the road ruminating as composedly as if in their 
native pastures. The equanimity with which they re- 
ceived alike the criticisms and encomiums of visitors, 
was matter for our especial admiration. One would 
wish to divine, from their quiet and meditative air, 
what they thought of all the pother about them. 

The nice points of the juries of award were about 
as intelligible to us as the jargon of a Shaker psalm ; 
nevertheless, we ignorantly admired the sturdy forms 
and brawny necks of the bulls, the distended udders of 
" the milky mothers of the herd," and were duly aston- 
ished at the marvellous obesity of the swine. The 
lithe limbs and glossy arched neck of a splendid stal- 
lion, gave occasion to my companion to indulge in a 
series of poetic rhapsodies, after the manner of Job, — 
to which I listened in more humble imitation of the 
same patient patriarch, although, truth to confess, my 
own imagination was totally absorbed in the contempla- 
tion of certain delicate suckling pigs, that were pictured 
vividly to my fancy, at the culminating point of their 
brief existence, with a lemon in each mouth and other 
appropriate surroundings. It was evidently time to 
dine. 



162 TAGHCONIC. 



SEC OND DAY. 

On the bright and beautiful morning of the second 
day of the Fair, we again sallied forth, in search of 
adventures. The streets were densely thronged with 
all sorts of people, seemingly like ourselves, with no 
very definite notion of what they were after ; — 

" Like a flock of sheep, 
Not knowing and not caring wliitlier 
They come or go — so that they fool together." 

My memory is mazed with the recollection of that 
motley crowd. The representative from Peachem, with 
gingerbread under one arm and " umberell " under the 
other, jostled the gloved and caned exquisite from 
Broadway ; and the traveller who could contrast this 
with the great fairs of Europe was favored with the 
opinion of the youth whose eyes had hardly peeped 
over the Berkshire hills. Here and there, men famous, 
the world over, in politics and literature, went about 
moralizing, perhaps, — or, more likely, watching that 
most animated part of the scene, 

" The lassies with sly eyes, 
And the smile settling in their sunflecked cheeks, 
Like noon upon the mellow apricot." 

Oh, those sly-eyed lassies ! There was one of them, 
— a most fairy-like creature, with such a delicate and 
taper waist, with such a foot and ancle, with such an 
aristocratic face and air, as would have furnished Willis 
a model for a dozen countesses. I set the owner down 
in my own mind as the daughter of some village cler- 
gyman, or at the very least, of the 'Squire, — and 



THE COUNTRY LASSIE. 163 

lingered near, hoping some one might pass who could 
present me ; or if that failed, that I might catch some 
silvery syllables from those lips that curled so like a 
red rose leaf, — for I confess to having been a little, 
just a little "struck." But no one seemed to know 
her, and for a wonder she kept silent. 

But at length she spoke. Ye gods ! such words ! — 
Turning to a friend, she exclaimed, — shall I repeat it? 

" I say. Sail ; d' ye 'spose Jim 's sold all that cider 
o' his'n ? Goll darn him ! " 

Do you recollect the scene in " Faust," where the 
hero was so much disgusted with his fair partner, 
because — 



' A red mouse, in the middle of her singing, 
Sprang from her mouth." 



And how Mephistophiles replied, — 



" That was all right, my friend, 
Be it enough the mouse was not grej^ ; 
Do not disturb your hour of happiness 
With close consideration of such trifles." 



My mouse was grey, and no trifle at all. Think of 
it ; that odious sentence leaping out of the prettiest 
little mouth in the world, and suddenly putting an end 
to a full half hour of wasted affection ! I wish I knew 
the name of my charmer ; I am sure it would be a 
talisman against all such spells in the future. 

But to return to our motley crowd, through whom, 
by dint of determination we pressed our way and took 
our stand upon an open common, near the Railroad 
Depot. Here booths, stalls, tents, merry-go-rounds. 



164 TAGHCONIC. 



and raree shows had sprung up in the night, like so 
many mushrooms. Babel and Vanity Fair ! Such a 
discord of tongues and chaos of merchandise one does 
not often meet. It seemed all the pedlars, from Quoddy 
head to Byram river, had met in convention. So many 
shining, twinkling eyes, oily tongues, nasal twangs, 
" tews," " dews," and " yeous " I did not believe could 
be concentrated on one little acre of ground. If you 
think " Sam Slick " a caricature, I beg you will visit 
this common at our next cattle show. But, on second 
thoughts, if you are over sensitive about your nerves or 
your pocket you were better away ; for, escaping from a 
vender of Shakspeare, Milton, and " Venus in Boston," 
you are beset by a villainous smelling compound, known 
— on this occasion only — as " oyster stew ; " flying 
thence, as for your life, you fall upon the razor-strop 
man, and finally, having run the gauntlet of pedlars, 
showmen, and auctioneers, you take desperate refuge in 
the jaws of some gigantic show-tent — as we did in one 
where, a stupendous hand-bill informed us, could be 
seen all the notabilities of the day. 

A "York shilling" procured us the entree and an 
introduction to a waxen crowd of horrors and heroes, 
very distinguishable, the one from the other, by the 
aid of labels. 

Coming from the showman's tent with the delightful 
consciousness of a well-spent shilling, we found the 
people moving towards the scene of the ploughing 
match, which was to take place on a field some two 
miles distant. This is the most exciting part of the fes- 
tival ; the scene has all the interest of the race ground. 
Upon this arena the strength and training of the best 



RALPH, THE FARMER. 165 

cattle in the county are tested, and the skill and cool- 
ness of the flower of our ploughmen are displayed, 
before dames whose favor is quite as well worth win- 
ning as that of any who ever, in chivalric tournament, 
inspired blood guiltiness. The scene of the contest is 
very brilliant and imposing, yet this year we did not go 
to witness it ; but while it was passing, preferred to 
listen to a little story of simple and unhappy love, 
which happened in connection with one of these plough- 
ing matches, many years ago. 

lialpl), tl)e iTarmcr. 

In a sunny nook, among the hills of a neighboring 
town, lived, many years ago, a young farmer, "the 
only son of his mother, and she a widow." His patri- 
mony was small, but admirably cultivated. In the 
whole valley was no better husbandman than he ; and 
you looked in vain for greener fields, tidier barns, and 
sleeker cattle, than those which called him owner. The 
little brown cottage under the elms was the envy of all 
romantic travellers who passed that way. 

It was indeed a pretty cottage ; any kindly, loving, 
simple people could have lived there, as did the widow 
and her son, very happily. Not that Ralph — that was 
the son — did not think it at times a little lonely ; but 
then it was not with that desolate solitude which now 
pervades the spot, but with a half pleasant loneliness, 
sweetly suggestive of future companionship. No bach- 
elor is half so incomplete a being as your farmer ; no 
young man half so matrimonial. Invariably the first 
thing he does, upon coming into possession of himself, 
14 



166 TAGHCONIC. 



upon liis twenty-first birth-day, is to look around — if, 
indeed, lie has not already done so — for some fair 
hands into which he may at once surrender his new 
and uneasy freedom. A true farmer makes the best 
lover in the world, and a still better husband. I men- 
tion this for the benefit of any young lady who may, at 
the present reading, be balancing in her heart a whole 
souled man against stiff dickeys and patent leather 
boots. 

Ralph was no exception to the general rule, but 
rather a notable example of it. His great, earnest, 
warm heart was from childhood continually seeking out 
something on which to bestow its exuberant love. 
There was not a human being about but had a corner 
in his affection ; not an animal, a tree, a flower, nor 
shrub, upon his farm, but his soul twined itself around 
it. His heart even yearned towards the grey rocks, 
and he never cut down the bright flowered thistle with- 
out a sigh. 

No wonder that when Ralph came to the district 
school he should feel a kindly thrill toward the rosy 
cheeked little maidens upon the opposite benches. It 
was characteristic of Ralph, that, whatever was beau- 
tiful to the eye, his soul yearned towards it with a 
devotion that would perceive no inward defect. His 
old teacher said, years afterwards, that he would sit for 
hours watching the piles of golden clouds in the west ; 
and that he cared more for the green and golden streaks 
upon an apple than for its melting flavor. It was 
an unfortunate omen, that no poisonous flower was 
shunned by him, if only its hues were fair and silken. 

"Wlien Ralph finally fixed his heart upon one object, 



RALPH IN LOVE. 167 



he was guided by this same fatal love of beauty. It 
chanced that just across the little valley stood the man- 
sion of the great farmer — the colossal rich man of 
the neighborhood, who was always addressed as the 
" 'Squire," and, moreover, by service in the councils of 
the Commonwealth, had obtained a right to the prefix 
of " Hon." to his name, upon newspapers, letters, pub. 
docs., and all post-office matter whatever. This gen- 
tleman had a daughter — one of those marvels of 
beauty which now and then electrify a county. The 
wrinkled gossips, who were fair and young with her — 
whose bosoms were full and white when they used to 
thrill with envy, to hear her praises — these gossips, so 
old and withered now, so young and glowing then, 
speak, even at this day, of the charms of Maria with 
an exaggeration of praise which reminds one of the 
hyperboles in which the old poets describe their mis- 
tresses. The imagination strives, painfully, to lift the 
curtain of faded years to look upon her loveliness. 
But the tide of time reveals only, now and then, a fitful 
gleam ; as the water, stilled for a moment, might reveal 
the placid countenance of the drowned maiden beneath, 
and then again distort it with its ripples. Yet, even 
so, we feel something of the beauty which moved our 
grandsires. 

That Ralph should fall madly in love with such a 
being, was as natural as that his fruit should ripen 
when the sun shone upon it. Looking upon the matter 
lightly, there was no prudential reason why he should 
not. The lady was rich, beautiful, and virtuous. The 
father, "for all his greatness," was a bluff", hearty, 
generous old man, with a determined liking for Ralph, 



168 TAGHCONIC. 



which put all opposition from that quarter out of the 
question. Indeed, as it afterwards turned out, he had 
set his heart upon having Ralph for a son-in-law. 
Maria smiled quite as sweetly upon her suitor as even 
a loving woman should. It would have been strange, 
had not the tongue of envy whispered that she was 
doing quite her share of the wooing ; indeed, I think I 
have heard that shrivelled slander hissed by thin and 
bloodless lips, that, perhaps, had breathed it in their 
days of cherry ripeness. 

The engagement was looked upon as a settled thing, 
by all the world, — that is, by the half hundred fami- 
lies who formed the hamlet. Worldly prudence and 
true affection, for once combined, it really seemed as 
though the course of true love had at last got into a 
smooth channel. 

Doubt all facts which contravene the philosophy of 
Shakspeare and the ages ! You must have known 
women with a wealth of loving, melting smiles at per- 
fect command, that look so natural and heart-born 
you would sooner doubt your own senses than their 
truth ; with an eye which holds you in a spell you 
would rather perish of your faith than break. You 
must have met such — everybody does — though you 
could not comprehend them, could not, by any analysis, 
separate the fair show from the ugly reality. We call 
such, with as much truth as triteness, "fascinating." 
Heaven be your help if you ever feel their power upon 
you ! — You were better in the grasp of the wild Devil ! 

Yet under such fascination was Ralph ; such terrible 
power had Maria, — although she was probably uncon- 
scious of it, when she first began to wind her meshes, 



MARIA. 1 69 

like the coils of a beautiful serpent, around the heart of 
our poor Ralph — alas ! too happy to be so enfolded. 
It is not unlikely she deemed she was employing only 
the innocent arts by which a maiden seeks to obtain a 
lover, and thought that by and bye she would settle 
down into a quiet, staid little wife. But flattery had 
already begun to do its work in her bosom ; vanity 
surely, and not slowly, was becoming the moving spring, 
the living principle of her existence. In most girls it 
would have been content to display itself in some 
knackeries of dress, some prettiness of accomplishment, 
or at most, in some teasing of their lovers, to show 
their power over them. But Maria was not an ordi- 
nary girl ; she had genius — I might better say a 
demon — in her. 

Daily and systematically she displayed her real 
power over, and her feigned contempt for, her lover, — 
while she continued to bind him yet closer to her. I 
do not know that she deliberately determined to con- 
tinue this course for months, but she found her daily 
pleasure in it, and had too little virtue ever to bring 
the day of reform nearer than to-morrow. Ah ! if 
none did evil but those who resolved to lead a life of 
sin, this would be a pure world of ours. It is the day 
laborers in Satan's vineyard who do the work. 

All the village — except the unsuspecting Ralph and 
the 'Squire — were familiar with the character of Ma- 
ria. The village dames, firm friends of R-alph, shook 
their heads sadly, and prophecied that no good would 
ever come of such a wooing ; the young men murmured 
indignantly that the frankest and best heart among 
them was the victim of a selfish coquette; even the 
14* 



170 TAGHCONIC. 



minister, wlio for many years had taken a genial interest 
in the loves of his parishioners, took Maria seriously to 
task, for her sinful follies ; but in vain. 

Matters went on in this way until the Fall, when 
Maria's brilliant attractions procured her an invitation 
to pass the Winter in the city, with Mrs. N., a relative, 
who wished a country beauty, to add piquancy to her 
soirees. The young people parted as lovers part, with 
some tears, some pretty protestations, and probably a 
few or more kisses, — such is the custom, I am told. 

Months passed away — weary, anxious months for 
Ralph ; for the post brought few letters from Albany, 
while scandal whispered many unwelcome rumors of 
Maria's course of life there. Indeed, to let pass other 
matters, one cannot imagine a society better fitted to 
foster her darling vice of vanity, than that which 
thronged the gay saloons of the dashing Mrs. N. ; the 
more so, when we remember that the giddy girl was 
set up there for the sole purpose of receiving the scent- 
less incense of fashionable homage. 

But the Spring came, and with it Maria's return to 
the country. The lovers — shall I still call them so ? — 
met ; met as they had parted, for one had the same 
ready smile, and the other the same confiding heart. 

It was a delicious Summer evening — one of those 
twilights when the good God pours out his love visibly 
over the earth, and summons yours to meet it ; when 
you send forth that love, unmindful that it can anywhere 
meet that which shall turn its sweetness to gall ; when, 
if by chance, you think of sin and hatred and sorrow, 
it is as of things pertaining to another sphere, with pity 



A coquette's whim. 171 



for whose inhabitants your heart is yet more softened. 
It was on such an evening as this, that Ralj^h spoke of 
his loves, his hopes, — hardly of his fears ; how should 
he, in such a world of hope ? 

That was an hour for a true woman's nature to dis- 
play itself. Had she buried herself in the ashes of 
coquetry ; had she been wandering in a maze of fash- 
ionable flirtations ; had she wrapt herself in affectations 
as in a garment, — now v/as the hour to cast off the 
delusive shows and appear in native truth. 

Ralph, in the deceitful light of that smile and that 
hour, expected a full outgushing of returned affection. 
There he was wrong — that he had no right to de- 
mand — although, after the parting and meeting kisses, 
it was, after all, not unnatural that an unsophisticated 
young man should have been led into error on that 
point. What he was entitled to, in default of the 
other, was a plain, kind, unmistakable rejection. He 
received neither; plainness was neither in Maria's 
nature nor her purposes. She smiled, more sweetly 
than ever ; looked all a lover could ask, " But really she 
had not thought of how far this matter should be 
carried ; she had been content with enjoying the pas- 
sing hour of innocent love " — here she smiled yet 
more sweetly — " but its present joys had been too 
seducing to allow a thought for the future ; " and much 
more sentimental falsehood of the same kind. 

Both were silent for a few moments, when Maria, as 
if struck with a new thought, exclaimed : " You know 
how much my father admires your skill as a farmer — 
I, too, am not insensible to it ; carry off the first prize 
at the next ploughing match, and I will be yours." 



172 TAGHCONIC. 



A strange condition this seemed to Ralph, and a poor 
return for long years of affection, bestowed as unre- 
servedly as his had been ; but he was too proud to 
remonstrate, and, perhaps, too much enamoured to 
refuse the challenge. But we may ask, was this a 
maidenly device to cover the surrender of a heart 
already won ? Was it a freak of ill-digested romance, 
or a plan to minister to a woman's vanity ? We may 
hereafter see. 

September came, and with it Mrs. N. came to visit 
the " Squire," and to attend the " cattle show." At the 
same time, two or three young men from the city took 
up their quarters at the hotel of the neighboring town, 
to the great profit of the livery stable and the bar. 
Their jaunty vehicles were seen daily at the gate of the 
old farmer, to his not small annoyance ; and the villagers 
thought the noises they raised, on their late return to 
town, were not a little disreputable. 

At last the day of the contest came. Ralph drove 
his team confidently upon the field, and looked anxiously 
around the crowd to catch a glimpse of his mistress. 
She was not with her father, in the old fashioned family 
coach ; but, after a weary search, his eye found her 
seated in one of those jaunty vehicles which he so cor- 
dially detested, and by the side of one of those dandies 
whom he detested still more. A pang of jealousy for 
a moment shot through his heart; — it would have 
been sharper could he have heard the bitter jest she at 
that moment bestowed upon her " barn-yard knight." 
But the signal for the contest was given, and Ralph 
was at once absorbed in its excitement. I have not 
space to describe it ; enough, that Ralph won, and, re- 



THE CAUSE AND EFFECT. 173 

ceiving his prize, set off at once in search of his mis- 
tress — as he, in the honest simphcity of his heart sup- 
posed — of his affianced Avife. 

The end of our little story will not seem improbable, 
to those who know, as I do, the tender, proud, but sen- 
sitive hearts, which beat under the broad breasts of our 
mountain farmers. With imaginations nurtured among 
the most romantic scenes of Nature, — often by famil- 
iarity with the most touching works of genius, their 
love often approaches the highest poetic ideal, — almost 
always transcends the conventional bounds of city 
" affairs." Such, at least, was that of our friend Ralph, 
whom we left in eager pursuit of his mistress. 

That evening the widow was sitting by the table, 
upon which the evening meal was placed in readiness ; 
sometimes casting a glance, from the window, down the 
road, and at intervals bursting into a hymn as cheerful 
as that of the kettle that sung cheerily over the fire. 
" It is getting late," she said to herself, " Ralph is late, 
to-night; he must have stopped at the 'Squire's. Ah, 
he stops long. Well, well, never mind, it will not be 
so, by and bye ; " and again the good mother smiled 
cheerfully, — for the widow was much given to a cheer- 
ful smile, and a word in her own ear, when alone. 

" Hark ! " she continued, still to herself, " there 's a 
step upon the stoop, but it cannot be Ralph's." The 
widow knew the firm, strong, elastic tread of her son, 
as well as she did his open, manly countenance. No ; 
this could not be his, for it was a halting, aimless gait, 
dragging itself along, with a clumsy and uncertain pur- 
pose. And yet, when the door opened, it was Ralph 
who entered. Still, it hardly seemed him, — so spirit- 



174 TAGHCONIC. 



less, with that wandering, lacklustre eye, that vapid air, 
those graceless, listless limbs, and not a word for his 
mother. 

" Ralph ! Ealph ! " she exclaimed, springing towards 
him, " you are ill ! What ails you ? What has hap- 
pened ? You have worked too hard in this strife. You 
have lost the prize?... It was cruel; but no matter, 
Miss Maria will love you as well without it. Ralph ! 
Ralph ! why don 't you speak ? " 

"Miss Maria can't love Ralj)h," he replied, in a 
drawling, idiotic tone; "Ralph is only a poor clod- 
hopper." 

We leave the distracted mother to be driven slowly 
to the knowledge that her noble-hearted, high-minded 
boy had become a brain-sick idiot. 

Ralph had, after long search, found Maria at the 
hotel, where her gay friends were rallying her on her 
promise to Ralph, — playfully insisting that she was 
now in honor bound to marry him. Ralph entered the 
room just in time to hear the reply, in an irritated tone : 

" Marry him ! — No. Sooner one of the steers he 
drives, than the awkward clodhopper ! " 

It was more than enough. 

The good old 'Squire insisted on taking Ralph and 
his mother to his own home, where the latter soon died. 
It would have been cruel to confine the harmless im- 
becile within walls, and he was permitted to wander 
from house to house, among the hills, always meeting a 
kind welcome at the hearths of the pitying farmers ; 
but he only muttered, continually, " Poor Ralj^h is only 
a clodhopper ; Miss Maria can 't marry a clodhopper." 



THE DESOLATE COTTAGE. 175 

Maria, learning the terrible result of her trifling, and 
fearing to meet the wrath of her father, consented to 
fly to the city with the young man who had been her 
companion for the day. Little was afterwards known 
of her, in her native village. When, a few years after- 
wards, her father died, a lawyer from Pittsfield claimed 
his estate in her name, and it was sold. At a yet later 
day, there came a vague rumor that she was the wife 
of a great East India merchant, in New York, and 
lived surrounded by luxury. Mansions, servants, and 
equipages ministered to that vanity which in youth had 
demanded a sacrifice — alas, how much more costly! 
But no certain news came of her, and she never revis- 
ited the scenes of her youthful triumphs. Sometimes 
her name was there mentioned, and her story repeated, 
but year by year it grew less familiar, until now only a 
few decrepit dwellers in the past, love to recount it to 
a patient listener to such old tales, like myself. Cer- 
tain I am, that, although some of my old friends have 
found the battle of life a hard combat, not one of them 
would exchange, for a moment, her bitter struggle with 
want and labor, for all the memory encumbered splen- 
dor of her ancient rival. 

I lately visited the place where the cottage of Ralph 
once stood. It was entirely desolate. The lightnings 
had blasted even the feathery elm which used to over- 
hang it ; and it was bleached white, in the mountain 
storms. Of the garden, only a single rose-tree re- 
mained, growing rank with leaves and cankered blos- 
soms. Was it too fanciful to believe that Nature had 
left them there — that tree and rose — memorials, the 



176 TAGHCOXIC. 



one of the blighted manliness of the lover, the other of 
the cankered prosperity of the coquette ? 

So ran the little story to which we listened, while 
the Ploughing Match of 1851 was passing. When it 
was ended, we proceeded to the hall, where the pro- 
ducts of the orchard, the garden, the dairy, and the 
household manufactory, were collected. Here we found 
the most delicious fruits, — trophies won in hard com- 
bat with the Frost King, and carefully defended from 
the raids which Winter, with all his hosts, makes over 
the borders of Spring. Here, also, were great tubs of 
butter, and cheese, for which epicures, with gloating 
eyes, were zealously contending ; and here were quilts, 
of every variety of quaint pattern and embroidery, 
resplendent with rich colors. Whatever Berkshire 
earth could be tortured into yielding ; and whatever 
the skill and taste of Berkshire women could create, 
was there. Here, again, the matrimonial disposition of 
our people appeared ; the handsomest quilts were la- 
belled "wedding quilts;" the prettiest caps were "wed- 
ding night-caps," which, — alas, that this and that 
should come together ! — were significantly pinned to 
some very handsome home-made cradles. 

But, after all, the crowd of people was the thing best 
worth one's notice. Once among them, individuality 
was not to be dreamed of; it was the very height of 
presumption to consider your legs, arms, or even your 
head, as pertaining with any more propriety to yourself 
than to your neighbor ; — all were merged in one com- 
monweal, or better, in one common woe. And then if, 



THE CROWD. 177 



by accident the mass was brought to a stand, the crash 
of bones, stay-lacings, watch crystals, and like frangi- 
bles, was really frightful. Nothing but a chivalric 
sense of duty could have induced me to go through the 
entire exhibition. 



15 



CHAPTER XYII. 

WHAT THET DO AT OTIS. 

BY A LADT OF BOSTON. 

When we left you, at the Stockbridge House, there 
was a sort of half promise on my part, of sending you 
a weekly epistle, recording all my goings and comings, 
seeings and hearings. I wonder, now, how I ever came 
to agree to such a thing ; it must have been the work 
of feelings softened by a parting " good bye ! " to my 
ever delightful Cousin George. The truth is, it would 
take a whole fortnight of Otis to fill a sheet of lady 
like paper ; but I '11 tell you what I '11 do, — writing a 
little, daily, I '11 send you when we leave here the 
whole, " at one fell swoop." 

I am sorry you did not come with us to this quiet 
little place, although you pretended to be ignorant of 
its very existence. Our gentlemen say, trout is very 
abundant in the streams, and pickerel in the lakes. 
They go out soon after breakfast, with guns and fishing 
rods, and usually come home laden with spoil. 

But here I ought to give you some idea of our 
whereabout. I am now in Sister M.'s room, which is 
the best in the house, as is right and proper. Through 
three windows, all in a row, the bright afternoon sun is 
shining, making, if possible, more bright the red and 



OTIS. ' 179 

orange of tlie carpet, the red and green of the bed 
curtains, and the yellow and green of the furniture 
generally, which, as you see, is all very gay. From 
these same windows may be seen the whole village. 
The street, with its two churches standing vis-a-vis ; 
the school house, the lawyer's little white office and 
pretty dwelling house ; the store just opposite, and a 
little lower down the post-office and blacksmith's shop ; 
a number of neat cottages, and a few more aspiring 
mansions. 

Just back of the church, on the hill side, is the 
village burying ground, close by the " Doctor's " house, 
as it should be. 

From my window, at the back of the building, I see 
a narrow strip of meadow, through which winds a noisy 
little river, that somewhere beyond my ken " turns a 
mill," but whether for the sawing of boards or grinding 
of wheat, I cannot say. Then there is a small pond, 
covered with quantities of yellow lilies of a most odious 
odor. Over the pond is a bridge, crossing which you 
find a very pleasant walk, up the " east road." Wild 
flowers are there, in great variety and profusion. To 
me, accustomed to bouquets made to order, the freedom 
to pick and choose here is very delightful. Our hostess 
is astonished at the quantities of wild things which I 
bring home from my rambles; and, when I tell her 
that I think them very beautiful, she says, "Well, 
there 's no accounting for people's tastes ; " which is 
very true, indeed. 

Around us rise the Berkshire hills, from which come 
down the most invigorating of breezes, — giving one 
the rosiest of cheeks and the heartiest of appetites. 



180 TAGHCONIC. 



Breakfast, with us, I assure you is anything but a mere 
ceremony ; and the dinner bell is never an unwelcome 
sound. 

Mr. F., the occupant of the pretty white office, 
and a very agreeable man, called last evening and 
planned several excursions ; among others, one to 
"Otis Falls," which, he assures us, are well worth the 
visiting. I have made the acquaintance of Mr. F.'s 
two dogs, and think them both very interesting, in their 
way. There is another, seemingly ownerless, — a sort 
of canine loafer, following every one who encourages 
him, and wagging his tail in token of friendship, if you 
do but look at him. " Zach." — Zach. Taylor, they call 
him — is a large black and shaggy animal, whose escort 
is not always acceptable ; but he seems to know that I 
am a visitor, and very rarely allows me to go out unat- 
tended. 

Friday, — Yesterday, with a party from Lenox, we 
visited the Spring, which gives its name to the " Cold 
Spring Iron Works." We had a delightful ride of 
three miles, then a ^ walk through a luxuriant turnip 
field, and a pretty piece of woods, when suddenly we 
found ourselves standing on the banks of a narrow 
river, with a high, steep hill rising close behind us, 
covered with silver birch. Half way up the hill-side a 
rude seat had been placed among the trees, and just 
below it is the beautiful spring, of whose clear, cold 
waters every visitor is expected to drink, and after- 
wards to lave his hands in its pebbly basin. Around 
we found some gorgeous cardinal flowers, foxgloves, 
and many other flowers of unknown names, but with 
bloom and fragrance not less sweet for that. We are 



TO THE FALLS. 181 



happy and willing to testify that a prettier spot is not 
to be found in Berkshire, nor colder water this side of 
Greenland. 

On our return, we looked into the " Forge," and saw 
men hammering iron, as warm as if there were no 
" cold spring " within a hundred miles of them. Now, 
Cousin, will you ever say again that you never heard 
of such a place as Otis ? 

John has just come in with a pair of gloves, which 
he " inclines to think need mending ; " and I, like a 
pattern cousin, am going to sew up the rips. So adieu ! 

Monday. — On Saturday we went to the Falls. The 
morning seemed specially made for our purpose, and 
we started in the highest spirits. All the way the road 
kept close by the little river, which here meets us at 
every turn. Fine trees grew on either side of the 
road, often intermingling their branches overhead, and 
forming a sort of triumphal arch, " long drawn out." 
The waters sparkled and gleamed up among the leaves ; 
the wild flowers — the laurel most beautiful of all — 
were in full bloom; the birds sang sweetly; "in short," 
as Mr. Micawber would say, " everything was color de 
rose" Even Miss T. forgot that "her sun bonnet 
made her look like a fright," and sat in perfect content- 
ment. 

We were almost sorry v/hen we came to the little 
village of Cold Spring, three miles from the village of 
Otis, where we dined, and then laid oiir course for the 
Falls. Here we separated from Mr. and Mrs. B., who 
went round in the carriage, while we preferred climbing 
up and over a very steep mountain, although it cer- 
tainly did not present a very attractive appearance. 
15* 



182 TAGHCONIC. 



Almost destitute of trees, and covered with short, dry 
grass, so slippery was the way that we could hardly 
keep our feet. But we were desirous of doing some- 
thing " out of the common," so, with a boy for a guide, 
we commenced our ascent. 

There was something entirely amusing in slipping 
down and being pulled up, in catching hold of alder 
bushes for support, taking in breath to last another 
trial, and then making it. When we did come to a 
tree, that was a special blessing. Almost at the summit 
we met with one — a very ancient broad-branched apple 
tree, in whose shade we stayed a quarter of an hour. 
It had fruit, 'too, — Mr. T.'s cane soon brought us a 
specimen, and he insisted upon our eating it. Miss T, 
made the attempt, and declared it entirely impossible ; 
but when John, with his most engaging smile, besought 
her to eat half of his, she had not the heart to refuse. 
Her brother muttered something about Eve and the 
serpent. Yes ; that was a pleasant quarter of an hour 
under the old apple tree ; while Miss T. took the oppor- 
tunity to alter the strings of her bonnet. Cousin Jack 
talked an immense deal of poetry, and Mr. T. decorated 
my hat with leaves from the old apple tree, vastly 
admiring his own handiwork. 

The remainder of the ascent was soon climbed ; we 
caught glimpses of houses, and saw before us an open 
road ; stone fences now came to be very frequent, and 
we became proficients in climbing them. Crossing the 
road we entered a rough-looking piece of woodland, 
where we heai'd the roar of the water. It grew louder 
and louder, as we descended into the wildest looking 
ravine you can imagine. Rude steps were made to 



THE FALLS. 183 



assist our descent, and we soon found ourselves in the 
very presence of the Fall. 

M. and her spouse were there, ready to "do the 
honors," and seemingly on very intimate terms with 
Majesty. Description is not my forte, or you should 
have all the characteristics of the cataract, — its length, 
breadth, quantity of water, and all that. You must 
now be content to know that they are beautiful and 
sublime, — beautiful enough to call forth all your 
"Oh's" and "Ah's" of delight; grand enough to fill 
you with admiration, without making you feel miser- 
ably insignificant in comparison, — a combination of 
qualities much to be desired. 

High rocks rise perpendicularly on either side, and 
as far as the eye can reach, the river goes roaring and 
foaming between them, in a very boisterous style. I 
cannot think that, in all its course, it ever becomes a 
quiet, orderly, well-behaved stream. I ought to speak 
a good word for the Falls, for they got up a rainbow 
for our especial benefit, — and Niagara could have 
done no more. We stayed until the last moment pos- 
sible ; but when we set our faces homeward, we were 
quite willing to abandon pedestrianism. Very tired 
indeed we were, and yet even more delighted with our 
day's excursion. Two days only remain, of our visit 
here, so that you will not get a very long Otis journal. 

Tuesday. — This morning I strolled into the burial 
ground, and it struck me as the most uninviting place 
in the village. I wondered if the dead could sleep well 
beneath its sod. Nothing in the world could tempt me 
to be buried there; I could never rest quietly. I 
am sure no ghost of taste would think a moment of 



184 TAGHCONIC. 



walking in such a jungle of thistles and blackberry- 
bushes. 

At Mount Auburn, where Nature and Art are both 
in such perfection, my thoughts are occupied with the 
beautiful sculpture, the rare trees, the lovely walks to 
the exclusion of its silent inhabitants ; but here, the 
absence of every attraction compelled me to think of 
the Unseen, — and, leaning against the rude fence, I 
mused long, if not deeply, on that great mystery — 
Death. [Godfrey thinks this latter much the more 
proper and profitable subject for his fair friend's con- 
templation, and hopes it may occur again.] Do not 
suppose I am going to trouble you with my specula- 
tions ; they were too vague, if I had the wish to do so. 

It was curious how strongly came back to me my 
old childish feelings, when, a little girl, I used to have 
the gloomiest thoughts of being buried. The idea of 
being carried out from my home, and left all alone in 
the grave-yard, was very, very dreadful ; many bitter 
tears have I shed over my own obsequies. I envied 
the mummies which I read of in my First Class Book, 

" Who walked about 
In Thebe's streets, three thousand years ago," 

and yet were standing up, if not walking. It seemed 
to me that I should not fear death so much, if I could 
be made like one of them, and placed in Sister Mary's 
closet, which she visited two or three times every day. 
Once I remember to have expressed a wish of the 
kind, but the look of horror with which my proposition 
was received, quite precluded any hope of such an 
indulgence being granted. 



ZACH. 185 

Even now I have something left of that old feeling ; 
my spirit still loves its earthly tenement, as one does 
the house in which he was born, and has passed many 
years of joy and sorrow. I love to believe that my 
own body will be raised a heavenly one, for I know my 
spirit would not feel quite at home in an angel's form. 

I was still in deep thought, when I heard a rushing 
sound, and saw the blackberry bushes and thistles in 
violent commotion. I was at first in great alarm, not 
knowing what wild beast might have made his lair in 
these savage haunts ; and I was not a little relieved 
when I saw my self-constituted esquire, " Zach," making 
his way towards me. He seemed perfectly wild with 
joy, at my unusually cordial reception, and accompa- 
nied me home without any refusals on my part. 

This is my last day in Otis. With the hope of your 
presence in Boston the coming Winter, and of many 
letters in the meantime, I subscribe myself 

Your affectionate 

Cousin Winifred. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

PITTSFIELD YOUNG LADIES' INSTITUTE. 

It is like a picture in an old story book about 
France la belle, with arching trees in front, a temple 
and chateau in the back-ground, and maidens and 
peasant-girls in all — is the scene at our Young Ladies' 
Institute, of a pleasant Summer twilight. All its light 
hearted inmates are out in full glee, with circling games 
and ringing laughter, — the truest children of health, 
content, and innocence. 

But all are not in the giddy group ; some have sepa- 
rated from it, and, in couples, with arms affectionately 
intertwined, are slowly walking down the long paths, 
pouring into each other's ears the precious secrets of 
maiden confidence, — all the hopes, the dreams, the 
fears which can find a lodging place in pure heax'ts. 
Very precious are those hopes and fears ; although 
neither may ever be realized, yet shall they be a part of 
life and a part of the woman in all her future. In this 
life of ours, we pile dream upon dream, effort upon dis- 
appointed effort, until the aj)parent fruitlessness attains 
to some sort of fruition and reality. There are few 
things in poetry more beautifully and truthfully said, 
than these lines of Henry Taylor : — 



YOUNG ladies' INSTITUTE. 187 

" The tree 
Sucks kindlier nature from a soil enriched 
By its own fallen leaves ; and Man is made 
In heart and spirit from deciduous hopes, 
And things which seem to perish." 

Under the vine shaded bowers, or by the sparkling 
fountain, sits here and there a solitary maiden, with 
thoughts, perhaps, far away in a happy home ; striving 
to bring to her fancy the family group as it is in 
the old homestead at the pleasant close of day. She 
may well be pardoned if, even in this pleasant home of 
learning, she steals a little while from young companion- 
ship, to let the warm but not bitter tears run freely 
down her cheeks. She will soon rejoin the merry 
circle, not the least merry there. 

This Institute is becoming a marvel of beautiful com- 
pleteness. Nothing in our village is more attractive to 
a stranger's eye than its broad ornamental grounds, 
with their winding walks and drives ; their bowers, 
trees, hedges, and shrubbery, in the centre of which 
are grouped the chapel, gymnasium, and dormitories. 

The chapel is a most chaste and elegant structure^ 
modelled accurately after that portico of the Erecthion 
at Athens, dedicated to Minerva Polias. Classic anti- 
quarians tell us that in this portico was the sacred 
olive tree, created by Minerva at the foundation of 
the citadel, and that here also was kept, guarded by 
dragons, the Erichthonian image of the same goddess 
— the Athenian Palladium. Perhaps there may be a 
bit of pedantry in it, but one cannot help suggesting 
that in our temple also is kept a Palladium, whose 
safety is quite as essential to the well being of the State 
as that of old was fabled to be to the welfare of Athens 



188 TAGHCONIC. 



— the education, virtue, and piety of American women. 
I am afraid, now, some wicked youth will pursue the 
simile farther, and add that our modern Palladium, like 
the ancient, is guarded by dragons ; to which I can only 
reply, that I know no more amiable and pleasant people 
than these same dragons, at least when oflf duty; I 
cannot answer for other times. 

This chapel is as chaste and beautiful within, as it is 
without. On either side a broad passage way, paved 
with blue and white marble mosaic, are arranged con- 
venient rooms for classes, cabinets, and like purposes. 
From this we ascend, by a broad and easy flight of 
stairs, to a large, airy hall, handsomely frescoed, and 
perfectly ventilated. The furniture of this room is very 
rich and costly, especially the magnificent organ and 
piano, — which, under the hands of M. Trenckler and 
his pupils, are made to speak to the very soul. Few 
of the musical lions, who of late have set the country 
wild, have half the genius of this gentleman, who, with 
the modesty of a master, shrinks from the public gaze. 
In this chapel hall the school daily assembles. Here, 
also, are held the Semi- Annual Examinations and the 
Musical Soirees. I make it a point to attend these 
examinations, both as a matter of pleasure and profit. 
Poetry and philosophy, believe me, sound none the less 
pleasantly when they come from rosy lips ; no, nor any 
the less truthfully. Why ! I have seen an eminent D.D. 
enter into a discussion with a witty Miss, on one of 
these occasions, and the worthy divine did not come off 
triumphant. 

But, if I begin on this theme, there is no telling 
where I may end ; and besides, I should trench on the 



YOUNG ladies' INSTITUTE. 189 

province of the honorables, the reverends, and the ven- 
erables, who will form the next examining committee. 
What puzzles me, is how masculine vanity ever grew 
so enormously as to fancy its possessor had more sconce 
than womankind. It is strange, again, how the idea 
ever obtained, that learning was a sort of compensating 
perquisite for ugly women. One who attends an Insti- 
tute Examination would say that beauty and brains go 
as naturally together as strawberries and cream. 

To tell of the delicious musical reunions would lead 
me more widely astray than the dryer details of an 
examination, — inasmuch as I love music as cordially 
as I detest mathematics ; yet I suj^pose the latter must 
in some way be digested. Indeed, I am told' some 
young ladies " dote on them." It is odd to hear silver 
toned voices rattling off plus and minus, sines and 
cosines, arcs, segments and tangents, with as much zest 
as "Ah, non giunge," or "Oft in the stilly night." 
But, seriously, one thing speaks well for the balance of 
education here, and that is, — that the voice which 
most clearly elucidates a problem of Euclid in the 
morning, shall also most accurately analyze a passage 
of Milton in the afternoon, and perhaps charm you 
with some sweet strain of music in the evening. Of 
course this nice balance is only found in those who, 
commencing early, persevere through a complete course 
of study. But I am running on as I said I would not. 

The most novel of the provisions which Mr. Tyler 
has made, for the benefit of his pupils, is the splendid 
Gymnasium — I believe the most costly and complete 
thing of its kind, connected with any institution of 
learning, in the country. It is a very large and finely 
16 



190 TAGHCONIC. 



proportioned building, of two stories, — the lower divi- 
ded into musical and painting rooms, and the like. The 
upper forms a magnificent hall, eighty feet long by fifty 
wide, with a graceful arch in the centre, supported by 
two fine colonnades of Ionic pillars. From this arch 
are suspended ropes, swings, and a variety of calis- 
thenic apparatus, — which can easily be placed aside, 
leaving the broad area open, for the enjoyment of the 
freest hilarity. 

On either side this open space, within the colonnades, 
are two bowling alleys — four in all — which entice the 
pupils to continual practice of that most genial and 
healthful exercise. The value of systematic exercise 
has 6een the constant theme of teachers for years. 
The rewards which its practice would ensure, and the 
sad punishment for its neglect, used to be painted to us 
at school, in glowing colors, — whose truthfulness too 
many of us can now painfully recognise. 

I do not know that we then behoved them false, but 
the want of those facilities which Mr. Tyler has so 
amply supplied, were a sore temptation to brave the 
danger. Heretofore, the attempt to supply this defi- 
ciency has been wofully inefficient. Although it is 
essential that the place of exercise should be well ven- 
tilated, and of attractive appearance, yet whenever a 
room has been provided, it has generally been some 
close, rough, cobwebed hall — an unsightly place, with- 
out beauty or fitness. It is to be hoped that the ex- 
ample of Mr. Tyler, in reforming this matter altogether, 
will be appreciated and followed. 

Leaving this hall, we ascended, by several flights of 
stairs, to the cupola, where we were astonished at the 



MISS wells' school. 191 

beautiful bird's-eye view of the valley which presented 
itself. I think nothing of the kind in Pittsfield can 
surpass it. 

The "Institute" is not the only seminary of the 
kind in our village. The pleasant family school of 
Miss Wells, although without the costly and luxu- 
rious appliances of the Institute, is hardly, if at all, 
inferior to it in successful teaching. I have never 
listened to the public exhibition of scholarship at this 
school, but its graduates are possessed of accomplish- 
ments which any institute might be proud to have bes- 
towed. Nothing can be more pleasant than the " Mu- 
sical Soirees" at this school. The unaffected style 
and splendid execution of Mr. Grossman, and his 
pupils, is beyond praise, in this age of rampant bra- 
vuras and crashing symj)honies. 



CHAPTEH XIX. 

LANESBORO'. HILLS AND VALLEYS. 

Nestled closest in the bosom of our hills lies the 
little village of Lanesboro' — the very fondling of Na- 
ture. Thither turns never the good mother her wrin- 
kled front ; near pressing as the mountains clasp the 
narrow valley, you must not look among them for 
frowning precipices, or earthquake rifted chasms. High 
into the air their summits j^ress, but not in jagged 
peaks — only with the full, round swelling of loving 
breasts, upon which you may repose, if you will, in the 
gentlest of Summer reveries. 

There is one eminence — in patriotic gratitude they 
call it Constitution Hill — with such a winsome, neigh- 
borly look to it, that in our streets, miles away, it seems 
near as your own garden. If you have in you any 
yearnings at all after beauty, I am sure you cannot 
look upon, and not be irresistibly drawn to it, to be 
lifted up gently and humanly, above the baser things of 
earth. Lying under its druidical oaks, or seated, far- 
ther up, upon a pearl-white quartz rock, in the shade 
of a whispering birch, you will see below you groves 
and farms, and broad, fresh meadows, with laughing 
lakes and windhig rivulets, — like silver embroidery on 
the green banner of Erin. 



OVER VIEW. 193 



Many fair villages, as well, will dot the scene, whose 
names — if you do not know — I hope you will never 
ask, but be content to remember, that under each roof 
of them all, human lives are wearing themselves out. 
Then let your own heart interpret for you what the 
overlooking woods whisper. If you know well the 
story of one hearth-stone, think what a thrilling tale it 
is ; and if, in your reveries upon the hill-tops you mul- 
tiply that marvellous but common story into the thou- 
sand dwellings of the valley, the resultant mass shall 
be greater than the mountains which encompass it. 

I could point you to an antique mansion — a grey 
spot it af)pears in the far distance, with no overhanging 
cloud to distinguish it — at whose story I am deeply 
moved, as often as I look upon it. The splendors and 
the shadows, which have by turns darkened and illu- 
mined its chambers, pass and repass in spectral reitera- 
tion, over my spirit. Whether I will or not, come the 
ghosts of fleeting joys, irradicable sorrows ; the lofti- 
ness of human pride and lowliness of pride's abasement, 
which have passed and left no record there ; and yet that 
gi*ey old homestead is no accursed roof, devoted to mis- 
ery from its foundation, but one even such as its fellows 
are. Ah ! if we could look within the seemly exterior 
of any home, — if we could penetrate the heart's cham- 
bers of any man, what might not meet us there? 
Those glowing windows which gleam so cheerily on 
our evening path, by what funereal torches may they 
not be lighted? Those radiant faces which meet us 
smilingly in our noonday walk, by what infernal pas- 
sions may they not be driven on ? So under the green 
and smiling earth lie pent the hidden fires, and help 
16* 



194 TAGHCONIC. 



the genial sun to quicken the blossom and ripen the 
fruit. 

This Constitution Hill must be a gi'eat promoter of 
reverie. I have a friend — a bachelor friend — who, 
no sooner is he seated upon it, than off he goes dream- 
ing over the whole valley, in a very Marvel-ous way. 
I do not believe there is a dwelling in sight, from 
Greylock to Taghconic, that he has not, at sometime, 
made himself pater familias in it. Bring him up 
hither, and his respect for the Tenth Commandment 
vanishes like the mist of the valley. Another friend 
of mine — an artist — never looks down from hence, 
but — presto ! change ! — the hard work of a century 
all gone, and the red Indian come back again, with wild 
wood and wigwam, council fire and hunting ground. 
So you, if you come within the charmed circle of our 
hills' shaven crown, may, perchance, work some won- 
derful phantasmagoric changes. 

I do not know how it all comes about. Perhaps 
some good genius has cast a spell upon the spot — a 
mode of solving such difficulties to which I confess 
myself prone, being naturally of a superstitious as well 
as lymphatic turn of mind. 

It may be only another fancy of mine, but the leaves 
here seem to have a jDerfection of beauty not attained 
elsewhere. Nature's work is finished with more care ; 
the curves are cut with a more accurate grace, and the 
green more faithfully laid on. In the Fall, too, the 
rich enamellings are done with greater depth of color- 
ing, and without shrivelling up the work in the process, 
as the careless elves are very apt to do in other groves. 
The specimens of their workmanship which I have 



THE STREAM. 195 



seen here, were perfect gems in their way. You shall 
not desire to see a more gorgeous sight than Constitu- 
tion Hill in October. 

Just on the western declivity is a good sized cavern, 
which, a witty lady thinks, may be the home of these 
elfin workmen ; but, in spite of the high authority, I 
must doubt ; such underground tenements are more fit 
dwelling places for bears, wolves, and such like ugly 
gnomes, than for any gentle spirits whatever. No, 
ours are 

" Some gay creatures of the elements, 
"^ho in the colors of the rainbow live 
And play 'i the plighted clouds." 

Descending from the hill, you may wander up the 
stream which flows at its base. If a follower of the 
"gentle craft of angling," you will not neglect to lie 
awhile where some thick-leaved maple overshadows a 
deep pool, where you may drop your line with the 
reasonable hope of bringing to shore a dozen fine fish 
— perhaps even the " Hermit Trout " himself, who is 
believed to haunt these pools, and only dimple the 
shallows in the pale moonlight ; — a wary old fellow he, 

" Too shrewd 
To be by a wading boy pulled out 1" 

Indeed, this is a stream which would have charmed 
old Izaak — the very counterpart of his own transparent 
Ichen. But I trust you are no patron of his treacher- 
ous sport. You were better to sit on some warm bank 
of green sward, or dangling your feet over some rustic 
bridge, to watch the smoothly gliding current, and 



196 TAGHCONIC. 



" The shadows of sun-gilt ripples 
On the pebbly bed of a brook." 

There is no wine, or oil of gladness, which has such 
a balm for the wounded spirit as the soft murmurs of a 
rural brooklet. 

"Wandering on, you may, if you are fortunate as I 
have been, sometimes catch a glimpse into dream-land, 
— like a vignette to an old romance, of a youth seated 
under a spreading elm, with a guitar in his hand and a 
maiden by his side. When I was a citizen I used to 
think such things confined to poetry and Spain ; but 
here, in the quiet days of Summer, things often occur 
which convince one of the truth of Hood's remark, 
that " it is dangerous to swear to the truth or falsehood 
of a romance, even of one's own making." 

On a gentle hillock, by whose side the stream flows 
in deep willow shade, is the village grave-yard. Do 
not fail to enter it. Among its thick, clustering monu- 
ments you can linger with best profit, undisturbed by 
quaintly ludicrous epitaphs, or monstrous heraldries of 
death. The touching inscriptions on the simple marbles 
bespeak alike the chastened spirit and the cultivated 
mind. What wild woe — paternal, filial, fraternal, and 
conjugal — this narrow spot has witnessed, I shrink 
from recalling. The marble bears record only of 
the subdued grief and the christian hope ; the story 
of the early woe, when the one joy of Hfe per- 
ished, — when " the young green bole was marked for 
fellage," is not told to the stranger's eye, and is sacred 
from the stranger's pen. Yet to that stranger is the 
place deeply consecrated; how holy, then, to those 



THE OLD AVOKSHIPPER. 197 

whose best of earth is mingled with its dust. I am 
here often reminded of a beautiful thought of Richter* 
" The ancients had it that not even the ashes of the 
dead should be embarked with the living, for fear of 
the storm which would be sure to follow. We have 
learned better, and know that, to be accomj)anied on 
the voyage of life by the memory of the dead, brings 
calm, and not storm ; he who always feels one loss, will 
be less accessible to new sorrow." 

®be ODlb toorsliippcr. 

In this grave-yard I once witnessed a scene, so touch- 
ing and solemn, and yet so far removed from any agony 
of woe, that to speak of it can open anew no half 
healed wound. It was one of those occasions when 
the sorrows of earth are so gloriously transmuted into 
the joys of Heaven, that we, who remain "of the 
earth, earthy," look upon the transfiguration in far off 
wonder ; while Philosophy strives in vain to charac- 
terize emotions, in which the consoler, Christ, enables 
the mourner to mingle — as in His own mysterious 
nature — so much of human sorrow with so much of 
Divine confidence. 

Not far from the village grave-yard is the church, — 
a modest gothic structure, built of the grey stone of 
the county. This was once, for many months, my own 
place of worship ; and still, on a pleasant Sabbath 
morning, I love to stroll to it. The bracing walk of 
some half dozen miles, through a delightful country, is 
no unworthy preparation for the devotions of the sanc- 
tuary ; and, through the day, the voices of woods and 



198 TAGHCONIC. 



waters seem to mingle with the deep responses of the 
congregation. Nature, with her thousand voices, joins 
in the jubilant chorus, and in subdued tones echoes the 
su23plications of the solemn litanj. 

The first morning upon which I entered this church 
I was struck with the venerable figure of an old man, 
who sat in front of me, completely absorbed in worship. 
Never had my ideal of Christian devotion been so com- 
pletely filled ; no painter could have desired a finer 
model. His whole soul seemed informed and penetra- 
ted with the spirit of the liturgy, in whose eloquent 
words he poured forth his soul to God. 

His veteran form was tall and martial in its bearing ; 
in the deep lines of his countenance you could not mis- 
take the characters of strong intellect, self respect, and 
unbending firmness of purpose. You would say he 
was one not likely to yield much obsequious homage to 
his fellow man ; but here, in the presence of Jehovah, 
his whole bearing was conformed to the most lowly, yet 
manly, humility. Nothing could be more impressive 
than the earnest tones with which he joined in the ser- 
vices of the church. 

Sabbath after Sabbath my eye sought and found him 
— the most noticeable figure in the room — until one 
Summer's day, when I entered, the people were wait- 
ing, in that hush of expectation which in a country 
congregation tells one that a funeral is about to take 
place. On my way to the church I had lingered a few 
moments, as was ray wont, in the grave-yard, — and 
had found an open grave in the lot of the venerable 
worshipper. I now looked to his pew ; it was vacant ; 
and I at once guessed that it was he who was about to 



THE FUNERAL. 199 



enter the sacred portals for the last time. But it was 
not so ; a whisper from a neighbor informed me that it 
was the wife of the old man who was no more — the 
wife of his youth. 

Presently, as the procession entered, I saw the wid- 
owed husband following close behind the coffin, his 
head a little bent, as if to approach nearer the form of 
the sleeper, and his voice a little more tremulous than 
usual, as he joined in the Scripture appointed to be 
then read. 

The coffin was laid before the altar, and the old man 
took his seat, with that forced calmness where the 
quivering lip shows the struggle hardly yet over, and 
the victory only half won. 

As the sublime promises of future reunion were 
read; as the sympathizing tones of consolation fell 
from the lips of the preacher, I thought the few remain- 
ing clouds vanished from the aged face, and a perfect 
serenity overspread it. When the sermon was ended, 
with an aspect almost cheerful, he rose up, to follow to 
her burial place all that remained on earth of her, with 
whom, for more than fifty years, he had w^alked, in 
sunshine and storm. What emotions were at work 
within, none could read ; — the fixed eye, the firm set 
lip, revealed nothing, — the prying eye of curiosity, 
the anxious gaze of friendship, returned alike, baffled. 
And yet, with what overwhelming power must the busy 
memory of that lonely old man have brought back the 
thick crowding events of half a century, from the first 
thrilling meeting to this last brief parting ! It is such 
moments which must disclose most vividly to the mind 
of Eld what this life is which passeth like a dream. 



200 TAGHCONIC. 



Such might have been the retrospect of the mourner of 
three score years and ten, as he took his few brief steps 
from the temple to the tomb ; — or, perchance his bet- 
ter spirit reached forward to a glorious meeting in that 
home to which sorrow and parting can never come. 

The coffin was lowered to its place ; — the people 
gathered around. The pastor began that beautiful ser- 
vice, in which the church commits earth to its kindred 
earth, and proclaims the spirit returned to the God 
who gave it. There, at the clergyman's side, stood the 
tall and veteran form of the mourner, his thin grey 
hairs streaming in the mountain wind, as he repeated, 
firmly, the proper responses. For a while he looked 
steadfastly down into the grave, — but as the pastor 
read; — "And the corruptible bodies of those who sleep 
in Him shall be changed and made like unto His own 
glorious body," the depressed eyes were raised to 
Heaven with an expression of most triumphant and 
joyous hope. The struggle was over. The grave had 
lost its sting ; — " Death was swallowed up in victory." 
It was a spectacle most touching and sublime. 

Yet a few moments, and the grave was closed ; the 
people separated to their homes, — and the mourner, 
likewise, departed to his, — but for not long. He was 
soon missed from his accustomed seat in the sanctuary. 
With the fall of the leaf, he went down into the grave, 
— and the grass which in the Spring started upon his 
wife's mound, waved over two. 

There is another and older graveyard in the town, 
white with its multitude of marble testimonials. Here 
there used to be a tomb, carved with masonic symbols. 



MADNESS. 201 



and having a heavy iron knocker on its door. Here, 
often at midnight, — whether the still moon shed her 
pale light on the ghastly tombstones, or the dark and 
howling tempest was on, — a crazed woman used to 
enter the grave encumbered ground, and strike such 
a peal on the ringing iron that the sleepers in the 
near dwellings started trembling from their slumbers. 
There is something terribly significant to me in that 
gloomy visitation of the tomb. What earnestness of 
agonized longing for their repose, may have impelled 
that wild nocturnal summons to the dead. " Wake ! 
wake ! ye peaceful dwellers in the tomb," perhaps that 
weary, brainsick woman said ; " open your dark por- 
tals and give me rest beside ye ; wake ! — the living 
turn from me, and do you also spurn me ? — me, who 
shudder not at any loathsomeness of yours ? " 

But cheerier thoughts for the cheerful light of Sum- 
mer, — and, passing the mildewed realms of death, do 
you hie away to some beautiful hill, — Piatt's, Pros- 
pect, St. Luke's, or the " Noppet ; " or to some fair 
valley, — whither I may not stay to accompany you, 
— and so, farewell ! 



17 



CHAPTER XX. 

GRANULAR QUARTZ. SILICIOUS SAND BEDS. 

Not the least curious geological formation in Amer- 
ica is that of the granular quartz beds, among the 
Berkshire hills. Much fierce warfare has been waged, 
among the irascible sons of science, as to how and 
when they came where we now find them ; whether 
they form part of the regular strata, or are interlopers 
in the family of old Hoosac. If I rightly understood 
him, I once heard a dignified savan distinctly charge 
them with 4)eing no better than changelings ; and the 
whole learned conclave agreed, that Nature must have 
brought them forth in a gypsy sort of a way, not very 
creditable to her. 

I do not know that I could reconcile the differences 
of the doctors — even if I understood them — but this 
much a love of justice compels me to say, that, having 
visited these rocks in their homes, from Vermont to 
Connecticut, I have always found them lying among 
Nature's other children as peaceably as need be, — 
although I must confess that their neighbors often bear 
traces of fiery times and a good deal of turmoil, when 
the quartz first came among them, perhaps with some 
unseemly ardor and abruptness ; but for immaculate 
purity, the wide world cannot show their equal. 



SAND AND GLASS. 203 

Without metaphor, the beds of granular quartz scat- 
tered along the Hoosac Mountains, afford, in some of 
their localities, the most precious and beautiful silicious 
sand for the glass manufacturer, which the world has 
ever known. 

For thousands of years this has been considered one 
of the most rare and valuable minerals. Tacitus tells 
us that it was found on the banks of the river Belus, 
near Mt. Carmel, and used by the Phoenicians, three 
thousand years ago. Nitre, he adds, was found natu- 
rally combined with it ; and, although the shore was 
small, the supply was considered inexhaustible. At 
the time of the advent of Our Saviour, vessels were 
annually dispatched to this locality to bring the sand to 
Rome, where extensive glass manufactories had been 
established. Then, and long afterwards, Mt. Carmel 
was supposed to be the only locality of glass-making 
sand in the world. Excellent beds have since been 
opened, in various parts of Europe ; but in England, 
until within a century, ground flints were used exclu- 
sively in the manufactories ; whence the name, " Flint 
Glass." Lynne sand was afterwards found to be nearly 
pure silicious matter, and that was substituted. More 
lately I understand a still better article has been dis- 
covered at Alum Bay, in the Isle of Wight. 

A curious item in the statistics of English glass 
making accounts for the exceeding ugliness of junk 
bottles. It seems that the British excise laws forbid 
the use of any better material in their manufacture 
than the sand from the river bottom, lest the revenue 
might be defrauded by the use of the glass for purposes 
where one which pays a higher tax is now employed. 



204 TAGHCONIC. 



Great quantities of sand are taken, for this purpose, 
from the bed of the Thames, of>posite Woolwich — 
from which comes the name of " "Woolwich Glass." 

Until within a few years, the American glass houses 
have been supplied with silicious material from the 
banks of the Delaware and Mississippi, and from a 
locality near Pittsburgh, Penn. But about the year 

1847, the sand beds of Berkshire attracted the atten- 
tion of Mr. Samuel Smith, of Boston, by whom their 
product was introduced to the notice of nearly, if not 
quite, all the manufacturers of New York and New 
England, as well as to some of those in more distant 
places. The glass houses of the northern States, ex- 
cept Pennsylvania, are now supplied almost exclusively 
from these beds. 

The existence of an excellent silicious sand in Berk- 
shire, has been long known. Indeed, in 1814 glass 
houses were established in Cheshire and Chester, in this 
county. But the difficulty of transportation over the 
hills was then very great, and, together with the influx 
of foreign goods, consequent upon the return of Peace, 
rendered these enterprises unprofitable, and both were 
very shortly abandoned. From that time until the year 

1848, the beds were neglected almost entirely — being 
worked, I believe, only for the use of marble sawyers, 
and for the glass works at Sand Lake, in New York. 

In this latter year, a bed in the eastern part of the 
town of Lanesboro' (known now as the " Old Berk- 
shire Bed ") was opened, to supply the markets. This 
still remains the most valuable bed, and is, I think, the 
only one now worked. I may as well attempt some 
description of it, as it appeared on a recent visit. 



THE SAND. 205 



At a distance of some six miles from Pittsfield we 
came to a bye road, leading circuitously across the fields 
to tlie east. One of the windings of this cross road 
brought us suddenly upon what — if it had not been 
July, I should have taken for an immense snow drift. 
It was a pile of silicious sand, containing something 
like three thousand tons. It was white and fine as the 
purest snow that is driven over our mountains. The 
imagination can conceive of nothing more brilliantly 
white than this mass, glittering in a July's sun. Stran- 
gers exhaust their rhetoric in their attempts at compar- 
ison. — The driven snow, salt, loaf sugar, the silver 
fleece, the fleecy cloud, are all impressed into service. 
One very young gentleman likened it to his lady's 
bosom ! 

They tell a story of one Mr. R., of Lanesboro', 
whose good lady had a box of this sand placed upon 
the shelf, close by a similar box of salt ; but the two 
getting somehow transposed, Mr. R. gave the sand to 
his horses, for salt, for some days, before he discovered 
his mistake, — for the beasts made no mention of it, 
although undoubtedly they had it on their tongues. 

I can vouch for the truth of this story ; but the pro- 
verbial honesty of gentlemen of that trade forbids me 
to credit the slanderous report that the grocers use the 
same article to give weight to their sugars. 

The bank of sand which I described, lay a dazzling 
mass in the sunshine. Beyond it a pit some eighty 
feet deep, and of large area, was dug into the moun- 
tain. The west side is open to the road, for drainage 
and transportation. The other sides, or walls, as they 
are technically called, are of solid granular quartz, 
17* 



206 TAGHCONIC. 



softened in some parts to sand, by the action of water 
and air, and here and there intersected by a vein of 
fire clay. Several feet of superincumbent soil rest 
upon it. 

Across the top of the pit a wooden viaduct leads a 
mountain brook to a series of wooden vats, with strain- 
ers of wire gauze at the lower end of each. These 
are filled with sand, — passing in succession from one 
to the other, — and the water is filtered through them, 
carrying with it whatever impurities may be present. 
When this purification is completed, the sand is 
thrown out to dry in the sun ; but a great deal of mois- 
ture remains, which cannot be thus evaporated, and 
accordingly it is taken to the drying house, which 
stands on the main road nearly at the point where the 
bye road leaves it. Here it is placed in huge pans, 
made of closely riveted boiler iron, under which a 
brisk fire is kept up until no moisture remains. It is 
then packed in barrels and sent to market. 

Other beds of this mineral have been wrought, but 
none are so well worthy of a visit as the one I have 
described. 



CHAPTER XXI. 

MONUMENT MOUNTAIN. — ICY GLEN. — STOCKBRIDGE 
BOWL. THE MURDERED TRAVELLER'S GLEN. 

So much has been written about the fair old town of 
Stockbridge, that the tourist finds almost every rood 
upon which he there treads, already storied ground. 
Seldom does genius owe so much to its dwelling place, 
and yet more rarely is the debt so richly paid. " What 
is writ is writ," and it is hardly worth a common man's 
while to celebrate anew scenes which have received 
their fame at the hands of Bryant and Miss Sedgwick. 
Yet it is some compensation that the dry details, the 
skeleton topography of places so consecrated, are read 
with interest. In such topographical style let us run 
briefly over the regions about " Old " Stockbridge. 

Our first visit was to Monument Mountain, which, 
although within the limits of Great Barrington, is in 
the immediate neighborhood of Stockbridge village. 
No description of it can be more perfect than that 
given by Bryant. 

•' There is a precipice, 
Which seems a fragment of some mighty wall, 
Built by the hand which fashioned the old world 
To separate its nations, and thrown down 
When the flood drowned them. To the north a path 



208 TAGHCONIC. 



Conducts you up the narrow battlement. 
Steep is the western side, shaggy and wild 
"VYith mossy trees and pinnacles of flint, 
And many a hanging crag. But to the east, 
Sheer to the vale go down the bare old cliffs,- 
Huge pillars that in middle Heaven uprear 
Their weather-beaten capitals, here dark 
With the thick moss of centuries, and there 
Of chalky whiteness, where the thunderbolt 
Hath splintered them." 



"When I used, in school days, to steal the moments 
due to dryer studies to read in the old "National 
Reader," of Monument Mountain and 



' Its sad tradition of unhappy love 
And sorrows borne and ended long ago," 



I little dreamed that I should ever stand at its base, in 
the glorious light of a Berkshire morning, to compute 
the marketable value of " the bare old cliffs." Thank 
Heaven they are, after all, not of a nature to tempt 
the avarice of man ! 

The precipice rises five hundred feet, perpendicu- 
larly — or a little beetling at the top ; it is slightly 
curved inward, and gradually decreases in height, 
towards the south. At the bottom are heaped up a 
great mass of angular fragments, which have from time 
to time fallen from it ; and a detached pinnacle stands 
at a little distance, which is called " The Pulpit Rock," 
but reminded me more of a ruined and isolated tower 
of some old baronial castle. Cliff and fragment, and 
isolated crag, are formed of a compact granular quartz, 
— the same substance Avhich, farther north, when disin- 
tegrated by some natural process, forms the silicious 
sand of commerce. 



MONUMENT MOUNTAIN. 209 

The precipice extends north to about the middle of 
the Mountain, where it disappears, and the geological 
character of the rock is changed to that of mica slate. 
At the juncture rises the path by which you reach the 
summit; and here I found some pretty crystals of 
black tourmaline. Climbing the ascent, which is just 
difficult enough to give a zest to it, I bent my head 
dizzily over the abyss. 

" It ts a fearful thing 
To stand upon the beetling verge and see 
Where storm and lightning, from that grey old wall 
Have tumbled down vast blocks, and at the base 
Dashed them in fragments ; and to lay thine ear 
Over the dizzy depth, and hear the sound 
Of winds, that struggle with the woods below, 
Come lip like murmurs." 

The pile of loose stones, which gave name to the 
mountain, was destroyed in wantonness or idle curi- 
osity, many years ago. I have been told, however, 
that the pious contributions of visitors — who adopted 
the Indian custom of casting a stone upon it, as they 
passed — have quite restored it. I did not see it, for 
my guide said there was no monument now, nor ever 
had been. In fact, he had very little respect for the 
romancings of " Kate Sedgwick and Cullen Bryant," 
as he somewhat familiarly styled these distinguished 
personages. The story of the Indian maiden he con- 
sidered to be a sheer sham — with no foundation in 
fact ; or even worse, with one so detestably unpoetic I 
will not mar your pleasure in the scene by recording it. 

From Monument Mountain we drove to Icy Glen. 
I had long impatiently anticipated a visit to this cele- 
brated ravine, and fancied often to myself what sort of 



210 TAGHCONIC. 



a place it might be. I cannot say much for the accu- 
racy of my preconceived notions. It is a deep and 
narrow gorge, cumbered with enormous boulders and 
fallen trees, slippery and mossy, piled up irregularly, so 
as to leave great cavernous recesses beneath, and to 
give passage to a brawling stream among them. There 
are, in Berkshire, few or no places of a more romantic 
wildness. When, after stumbling and tumbling, climb- 
ing and sliding, over and under these Devil's playthings 
of rocks, one emerges just at sunset upon the mellow 
rural scene without, he is prepared to welcome ecstat- 
ically the smiling landscape. 

Within the glen there is sometimes a scene which 
must be grandly picturesque, — when on a moonless 
and, perhaps starless night, some hundred people in 
fantastic costumes, with flaming torches and pealing 
music, pass through the ravine, in such broken proces- 
sion as over that crazy pathway they can. How the 
red glare of the torch-light must flash from the rugged 
surface of the rocks to the fair faces of the ladies, — 
never so fair as in such fitful light. How the mingling 
music, and laughter, and shouts must reecho in a thou- 
sand Babel discordances, till the whole glen is mazed. 

Thence by a charming road to the Stockbridge 
Bowl, the most famous, — by many thought the most 
beautiful of our mountain lakelets. Celebrated by the 
loving pens of Miss Sedgwick and Mrs. Sigourney, it 
has associations which our more northern lakes cannot 
boast. It is a graceful and gentle sheet of water, encir- 
cled by a fine rural country. 

•' The Stockbridge bowl ! Hast ever seen 
How sweetly pure and bright, 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 211 

Its foot of stone, and rim of green 
Attract the traveller's sight?— 
High set among the breezy hills, 
Where spotless marble glows, 
• It takes the tribute of the rills 
Distilled from mountain snows." 

SiGODBKET. 

To the other attractions of this lake, at the time of 
our visit, was added, that upon its banks then lived 
Nathaniel Hawthorne. It was no small thing to breathe 
for a while the same air with that marvellous genius. 
The mountain lake should record that brief acquaint- 
ance as its first honor. By the bye, I am told Mr. 
Hawthorne honored the mountain and the lake with 
far more of his attention than he bestowed upon his 
neighbors. I believe Herman Mellville and G. P. R. 
James were among his friends ; but for the most part 
he is said to have lived in great seclusion. One is not 
much surprised to learn that the creator of Hester 
Prynne and little Pearl, Zenobia, and the Pynchons, 
does not find his highest pleasure in the chit-chat of 
fashionable or even of literary coteries. Nor should it 
surprise us if a touch of melancholy, or even seeming 
moroseness, tinges his manner. The knowledge of the 
soul's anatomist is that which " by suffering entereth." 

The scene of Bryant's ballad of "The Murdered 
Traveller," is on the road between the villages of Old 
and West Stockbridge. The following is the poet's 
account of it, in his note : " Some years since, in the 
month of May, the remains of a human being, partly 
devoured by wild beasts, were found in a woody ravine 
near a solitary road between the mountains, west of 
Stockbridge. It was supposed that the person came to 



212 TAGHCONIC. 



his death by violence, but no traces could be discovered 
of his murderers. It was only recollected that one 
evening in the previous Winter, a traveller had stopped 
at an inn in West Stockbridge ; that he had enquired 
the way to Stockbridge, and that, in paying the land- 
lord for something which he had ordered, it appeared 
he had a considerable sum of money in his possession. 

" Two ill-looking men were present, and went out 
about the time the traveller proceeded on his journey. 
During the Winter, also, two ill-dressed men, but plen- 
tifully supplied with money, had lingered awhile about 
the village. Several years afterwards, a criminal, about 
to be executed in Canada, for a capital offence, con- 
fessed that he had been concerned in murdering a trav- 
eller for his money, near Stockbridge. Nothing was 
ever known of the name or residence of the person 
murdered." 

Such is the foundation of Bryant's simple and touch- 
ing ballad. 

There are other beautiful and storied scenes about 
this most beautiful town, but space begins to fail me, 
and I must pass them. Green River, and the Sacrifice 
Rock, are left until another day. 

Note. I regret deeply that I am unable to give a chapter 
here on Great Barrington — one of our most lovely towns — 
once the residence of Bryant ; and also upon Bash Bish — one 
of our most picturesque localities. But a gentleman of Great 
Barrington, who had promised to contribute such a chapter, was 
compelled, by a pressure of business, to disappoint me, when it 
was too late to remedy the matter. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

wahconah's falls, and a tradition 
about them. 

A LITTLE way off the high road m Windsor — a 
nice farming town some ten miles from us — are Wah- 
conah's Falls, in one of the most lonely and neglected 
spots in Berkshire. I had heard their praises elo- 
quently spoken, by one who has an affinity for beauty, 
which searches out its kindred in all hidden nooks, and 
on a bracing Fall day I set out to visit them. 

There are few drives through a more agreeable 
region. The village of Dalton, (Dale-town,) through 
which you pass, is a handsome town, with a fine old 
meeting-house on its ample, lawn-like green. You are 
enticed to linger, as well, by the dark, rushing river, 
where you see the groaning locomotive toiling wearily 
up the steep ascent above you. And there, too, the 
quaint looking paper mills, by the river side, go far to 
make up a pleasant and novel scene. It is said that as 
bright glances are sometimes thrown from the windows 
of these oddly shapen manufactories as from any bal- 
cony, lattice or verandah, whatever. 

Leaving this pretty village, and its prettier belles, a 
few miles behind us we came to the Falls — a romantic 
miniature cataract — just far enough from the highway 
18 



214 TAGHCONIC. 



to be sheltered from the too careless eye. The eastern 
branch of the Housatonic here pours through perpen- 
dicular cliffs of grey marble a considerable volume of 
water, which in two or three sheets makes a descent of 
seventy or eighty feet. The scene is not very wild, 
but the dark precipitous cliffs form a striking and 
sombre vista, and the black and glassy surface of the 
water affords a fine contrast with the silvery white of 
the foam. 

One may be sure of passing a pleasant hour at such 
a spot. The swift, smooth gliding of water always 
brings a pleasurable sensation, and there is rare music 
in the dash of a waterfall free from the discordant 
clatter of machinery. I confess to a malicious joy in 
looking upon the blackened ruins of an old mill which 
used to stand here, but perished long ago in some fierce 
combat with the insulted elements. Heaven send thee 
no successor, thou grim and grinning skeleton ! 

It is in such places as this, that sensible people cut 
up all manner of boyish antics. Never be over nice 
about dignity, when in search of the better thing, enjoy- 
ment; leave gravity and etiquette at home, in your 
wardrobe, with all other starched and flimsy articles of 
apparel. Get astride an island rock, that midway 
divides the stream, where the torrent shall throw its 
spray over you, and the current dash madly by, on 
either side your slippery foothold. Shout ! rival the 
noisy stream at its own game. Notice now how 
superior is organic sound to any mere inarticulate noise. 
Your voice, lost in the thunder of the cataract so that 
you cannot hear your own words, comes out clear and 
distinct to your friends up on the shore. So the voice 



WAHCONAH. 215 



of true and prophetic genius, lost now in the mad roar 
of the multitude, shall ring its message in the ear of 
the listening future. 

This cascade makes good its claim to be called 
beautiful, by gaining constantly on your affection. You 
come again, and again, to sit by its ebon pools, and let 
your eye glide with the fall of its glassy sheet, and 
sparkle with the glittering fragments into which it 
breaks among the rocks. I like these minor cataracts 
which do not oppress you with sublimity ; where your 
soul is not absorbed by any awful grandeur. They are 
like those pleasant books where something is left for 
the imagination of the reader. There is room for the 
delights of an "if; " if it had been swollen to mighty 
bulk and curved like a horse shoe, — if it had been 
hung in air like the white ribbon of a bridal bonnet, — 
if it had fallen from so far that it had lost its way, and 
so on rainbow wings flown back to Heaven. Why, you 
have a whole cabinet of possible picturesques in that 
little germ. 

There is a tradition about these Falls, which I re- 
ceived, years ago, from a young Indian of the civilized 
Stockbridge tribe, who had come from his exile in the 
Far West, to be educated at an Eastern college. 

toal)conal). 

At the close of the great Pequot War, in 1637, you 
recollect that the remnant of that gallant nation were 
driven out from Connecticut and dispersed over the 
land — as they touchingly said, "like the Autumn leaves, 
which the winds scatter and they return not, though the 



216 TAGHCONIC. 



tree grow green again." In this sad exodus the great 
mass went to swell the tribes of the West ; but a few 
bands chose to wander up the Housatonic to the val- 
leys, where game was plenty and hunters were few. 
One of these small parties, under the lead of a young 
brave, called Miahcomo, built their frail village in that 
part of the valley now called Dalton. Here, for forty 
years, they lived in peace, and, begetting sons and 
daughters, increased in numbers far beyond the red 
man's wont. The hill-side, where they buried their 
dead ; the glen, whose thick woods reflected the red 
glare of their council fire, became dear to them as 
home ; but above all, the inaccessible mountains were 
prized, as the hunted man only can prize the strength 
of the hills. 

Almost forty years had passed since the little tribe 
fled from the flames of Fort Mystic, when the great 
Sachem of the Wampanoags came to them. With 
strong logic, and glowing eloquence, he painted the 
rapid encroachments of the white man, and passion- 
ately besought them to join in that league which, in the 
following year, well nigh swept the English colonists 
from the soil of New England. 

The young braves grasped their tomahawks as they 
listened, and the sympathetic eye of woman kindled 
with almost martial fire. But the rulers in savage, as 
in civilized life, can sometimes be prudent men. The 
chiefs crushed with cold words of sympathy the hopes 
which had quickened in the smiles of the people. 
Miahcomo — the same who led the tribe from the pur- 
suit of the English — still ruled them; and the young 
warriors whispered that the horrors of the last night of 



WAHCONAH. 217 



Fort Mystic, had turned his blood to water at the 
thought of the Long Knives — although bold as an 
eagle towards aught else. In more cautious tones they 
whispered, that if ever a spark of the old fire rekindled 
in Miahcomo's breast, the wily and cowardly priest 
Tashmu was always at hand to quench it. Thus the mis- 
sion of Philip failed, and the tribe continued in peace. 

In the early Summer, nearly two years after the visit 
of Philip, Miahcomo and his warriors were summoned 
to meet the Mohawks — to whom they had become 
feudatories — beyond the Taghconics. Trusting to the 
quiet of the valley, the village was left in charge of 
the women, and a few decrepit old men. Among the 
former was Wahconah, the old chiefs favorite daugh- 
ter, a young lady of singular personal attractions, and 
skilled in all the fine arts in vogue among her country- 
men, — especially in that of angling. What with all 
these accomplishments, and the high rank of her father, 
it is little wonder that Wahconah was the idol of all 
the young men of the village ; and, although yet almost 
a child in years, had — so the rumor ran — received 
offers matrimonial from a certain mysterious Mohawk 
dignitary. This latter worthy, the wigwam gossips 
unanimously agreed, would carry off the prize, when- 
ever he came in person to claim it, — for it was a thing 
unheard of in Indian wooing, that a brave of fifty 
scalps should sue in vain. 

The young gallants of the Housatonic did not, for 
all this, remit one whit of their attentions, so that, 
while they were over the border with her father, the 
hours hung heavily on the hands of Wahconah. It 
was, perhaps, to while away their tediousness ; perhaps 
18* 



218 TAGHCONIC. 



to get a nice dish for her lodge, that the maiden, 
one sunny afternoon in June, took her fishing lines and 
wandered up the river to our cascade. Before the sun 
went down her success had been abundant, and she 
only waited for one more last prize, — a habit which I 
notice is still invariable with successful j^eople, be they 
tmglers, sj^eculators, or what not. 

But Wahconah did not, after all, seem to have fully 
set her heart upon this final prize. On the contrary, 
she lay luxuriously back upon the soft greensward, 
playfully twining a few scarlet columbines in her dark 
hair, and smoothing softly down the gay feathers of the 
oriole and blue bird that decorated the edges of her 
white deer skin robe, — a garment which, it must be 
confessed, was rather excessive in its Bloomerism, con- 
sidering the primitive nature of the wearer's pettiloons ; 
but that was the fashion of the day, and no fault of 
"Wahconah's. 

The child-like maiden revelled in the very fullness 
of delightful idless. With a gentle, undisturbing thrill, 
she felt the richly colored clouds fill her with their deli- 
cious warmth ; she dipped her little foot in the stream 
and laughed aloud to feel the soft caresses of the cur- 
rent ; she mocked the blackbird that sung upon the oak, 
and the squirrel that chirped upon the hickory ; she 
threw flowers and leaves upon the wave, and smiled 
maidenly when two chanced to meet and float together 
down the stream — for that was a love omen. That 
must have been a pleasant sight in the Summer twi- 
light, almost two hundred years ago. 

Pity if it had been lost ! — as it was not, for all 
the while a young warrior had been looking on, from 



"WAHCONAH. 219 



the shelter of a wood on the other side of the stream. 
It was certainly indelicate in him to play so long the 
spy upon a maiden's reveries, but one cannot find it in 
his heart to blame too severely, when he considers the 
temptation ; and besides that, the offender was but a 
mere savage, and had never had the advantage of the 
counsels of Chesterfield, Abbot, or any " Young Man's 
Friend" whatever. The promptings of Nature, how- 
ever, did at last suggest to him the impropriety of his 
course ; or perhaps he grew impatient. At all events' 
he hailed Wahconah, in the flowery language of Indian 
gallantry, " Qua Alangua ! " that is to say, " Hail ! 
Bright Star ! " 

"Wahconah, startled at the sudden appearance of a 
strange warrior, in the absence of her tribesmen, sprang 
to her feet ; but preserving the calmness befitting Mia- 
como's daughter, replied, "Qua Sesah!" that is, "Hail! 
Brother ! " 

" Nessacus," continued the stranger, introducing him- 
self, " Nessacus is weary with flying before the Long 
Knives, and his people faint by the way. Will the 
Bright Star's people shut their lodges against their 
brethren ? " 

" Miahcomo has gone toward the setting sun," re- 
plied the maiden, — who by this time had probably 
come to the conclusion that Nessacus was a very hand- 
some young man, and well behaved, — " but his lodges 
are always open. Let my brother's people follow, 
and be welcome." 

A signal from the young chief brought a weary, 
travel-worn band to his side, and Wahconah led the 
way to the village, while Nessacus related to her the 



220 TAGHCONIC. 



sad story of Philip's defeat and death. " They waste 
us," he said, "as the pestilence which forerun them 
wasted our fathers." 

" The Manitou is angry with his red children," said 
Wahconah ; He makes the white man mighty, by the 
strength of the long knife and the fire bird." 

" It is not that," responded her companion bitterly, 
" but the traitor's tongue at our council fires, and the 
traitor's arrow upon our war jDath." 

"Wahconah remembered what the people whispered 
concerning Tashmu, and was silent. Thus they came 
to the village, — but I am not writing a tale, and must 
let pass the welcome, and the house keeping, as well, 
until Miahcomo's return. Suffice it that, in those pleas- 
ant days of the Moon of Flowers, the young people did 
just what you and I would have been likely to do, — 
that is, fell violently in love ; and, what was more, in 
direct violation of Indian customs, told each other so, — 
a breach of etiquette you will the more readily pardon, 
if you know experimentally, (as I doubt not you do,) 
how dementing is the glance of a bright eye, and the 
bloom of a damask cheek, in the soft light of a June 
evening, when your heart is as full of love as the air is 
of fragrance. 

Four suns had rij)ened the passion of our new 
lovers, and a fifth was shining genially upon it, when a 
messenger came in, announcing the near approach of 
Miahcomo ; and, as the custom was, all the people went 
out to meet him. What visions of happiness our dream- 
ers had built up, in their barbarous way, I cannot tell ; 
nor do I know whether Indian sires have such a fatal 
way of laying siege to air castles as more civilized 



WAHCONAH. 221 



fathers use ; so you can guess, as well as I, whether any 
tremblings troubled the hearts of our young friends, 
akin to what young 'Squire Mansfield and old Banker 
Barker's daughter might experience, in corresponding 
circumstances. But remember, one love is very much 
like another. 

Wahconah and the chief of her guests stood together, 
as, just up the valley, the returning warriors came in 
sight. Their leader is described as a fine old hero as 
one should desire to see. His tall, sinewy frame was 
scarcely bent by the snows of seventy Winters ; every 
wrinkle in his face was firm as if it were a new sinew 
of added strength ; his eye keen and piercing as that 
of his youngest archer. 

By the chiefs side walked a different figure, meek 
even to cringing, with an uncertain step, and weak, 
restless, unquiet eye. It was the priest Tashmu, — one 
of that strange cast often hated, sometimes despised, 
but always feared by the aborigines. This Tashmu 
was a constant attendant upon Miahcomo, and, it was 
said, had acquired a strange and mysterious power over 
the chief's mind. 

Wahconah shrank from the presence of the wizard, 
as the Summer flower shrinks from the north wind ; 
but his was not now the most unwelcome figure in the 
approaching band. With her father and the priest 
came a burly warrior, not positively old, nor absolutely 
ugly — only a little smoke dried or so, and marked by 
certain transverse and obverse scars, which, although 
doubtless very honorable, might have been dispensed 
with as mere matters of ornament. He was evidently 
a man of renown, and wore the scalps, that hung 



222 TAGHCONIC. 



dangling about him, as proudly as ever a civilized hero 
his jewelled star or blushing ribbon. Wahconah 
guessed, but too shrewdly, that this was her Mohawk 
lover, — although he was far too dignified a character 
to conduct his wooing in the unceremonious manner of 
his young rival. Perhaps it had been but awkward 
work had he tried it. 

When the parties met, a few words explained to the 
chief why the strangers were his guests, and ensured 
a ratification of his daughter's welcome. Whatever 
may have been his meditations upon learning the disas- 
ters of his race, they did not jprevent his holding high 
revel that night, upon the banks of the Housatonic. 
Feasts were celebrated, and games held, in honor at 
once of all his guests. I leave you to guess whose 
eyes brightened as Nessacus carried off all the prizes 
for daring feats and skillful, and whose darkened as the 
brawny arms and square frame of the Mohawk, Yon- 
nongah, excelled all, in their marvellous strength. There 
was yet another eye, stealthily and intently watching 
every glance and action, and divining the thoughts of 
careless hearts, for Tashmu was already the enemy of 
the young exile. 

Nessacus was no laggard in love nor in business. 
Early on the morning after the feast, he repaired to 
the lodge of Miahcomo, and the two remained long in 
conference. The visit was again and again repeated, 
but still the nature of their business did not transpire ; 
only the name of Wahconah was mixed in the gossip 
about it, and it was surmised that the suit of the Mo- 
hawk was, perhaps, getting in a bad way. The young 
chief was certainly getting to be a favorite of the old. 



WAHCONAH. 223 



But the power of the Mohawk, and the craft of the 
priest, were at work ; and they were dangerous ene- 
mies. It was the part of the latter to unearth the 
game ; to discover and bring the plans of Nessacus 
into open day, where his ally could attack them. He 
succeeded ; two propositions soon came to be national 
affairs, for the discussion of the council fire — the first 
for the marriage of Wahconah with Nessacus, and the 
second for the migration of the tribe to the West, 
beyond the reach of the white man's encroachments. 
To the first Miahcomo gave his support — but he clung 
to the spot where he had ruled so long and so prosper- 
ously. 

On the other hand, Yonnongah demanded the maiden 
for his fourth wife, on the strength of some ancient 
promise of her father, and denounced the vengeance of 
his nation if their tributaries should attempt to migrate 
beyond their jurisdiction. Yonnongah seemed bent 
upon securing Wahconah, alternately employing threats 
and those sweet promises, of which even an Indian 
lover can be so profuse, — especially after having 
already won three hearts. This was no matter of jest 
with the sorely perplexed father and chief, for Yon- 
nongah was a man of might in his nation, and would 
have scant scruples of delicacy in fulfilling his threats. 
All which Tashmu lost no occasion of urging upon the 
chief, to the great detriment of our hero's cause. 

Nessacus soon saw how matters were tending, and, 
conscious of his inability to cope with the priest in his 
own arts, took a bold, blunt man's way of settling the 
matter, and challenged his rival to decide the disputes 
by arms. Yonnongah, who, to do him justice, was a 



224 TAGHCONIC. 



brave man, closed at once with the proposal ; but the 
priest was not thus to be cheated of his chance of vil- 
lany. Signs and portents multiplied marvellously ; not 
a bird could fly, or a fish swim, or a cloud float, but 
each was pregnant with a prohibition of the proposed 
combat. The powers above and below combined to 
forbid it. The thunder muttered the divine veto ; the 
winds breathed it ; the stars winked it. If you could 
believe Tashmu, never was such a commotion in 
Heaven, and "elsewhere," as the coming duel had 
raised. The trial by arms was abandoned. 

It was but fair, since the gods had vetoed one mode 
of solving the difiiculty, that they should provide 
another. So thought Tashmu, and exclaimed in the 
council, " Let the Great Sjoirit speak." 

" Let us obey the will of the Great Spirit," responded 
Miahcomo reverently. 

And Yonnongah said, " It is well." 

It was then proclaimed that Tashmu would, by divin- 
ation, enquire that night in the " Wizard's Glen " how 
the will of the Manitou should be ascertained ; and a 
"bad spell" was denounced against all who went be- 
yond the precincts of the village, while he was engaged 
in his holy work. Many predicted ill to Nessacus, from 
this committal of his fate to the hands of a known ene- 
my, but none ventured to remonstrate against the 
decree. 

A few rods below the cataract at Wahconah's Falls 
is a sharp rock, which divides the stream. At the time 
of our tradition, the current flowed equally upon either 
side of it, and it had often been used, like the flight of 
birds, the aspect of clouds, and other simple objects in 



WAHCONAH. 225 



nature, to ascertain the will of Heaven. Upon the 
night of Tashmu's supposed divination in the " Wiz- 
zard's Glen," that respectable minister of religion might, 
instead, have been seen here, assisted by the stronger 
arms of his Mohawk friend, tugging away at certain 
great rocks which lay near the shore, and which they 
finally contrived to place in the water, so as to impede 
the current upon one side. 

At this same spot, by the river side, a day or two 
afterwards, the tribe were assembled, and it was an- 
nounced to them that Manitou had delegated the Spirit 
of the Stream to settle their difficulties. In other 
words — a small canoe, curiously carved with myste- 
rious hieroglyphics, was to be launched midway in the 
river, and, as the current chanced to carry it on one 
side or the other of the dividing rock, the questions in 
dispute were to be decided. This was a mode of solv- 
ing knotty points by no means uncommon, and which, 
therefore, excited no surprise, except that the Priest's 
chances for trickery seemed to be lessened. Simple 
souls ! who knew not that what appears the fairest field 
often affords the best harvest to accomplished knaves ! 

An " era of good feeling " seemed now to dawn. 
AU parties hastened to adopt this as a " finality." Tash- 
mu, in oily words, wished well to his brother Nessacus ; 
and Nessacus resigned himself, unreservedly, to the care 
of his brother Tashmu. The Priest was as much puz- 
zled as pleased, at this sudden access of confidence ; 
but it, at least, made his part easy to play. 

A solemn feast was now held ; and the magical bark, 
freighted with so many hopes, was then poised in the 
middle of the stream. Miahcomo was placed, in savage 
. 19 



226 TAGHCONIC. 



state, at a conspicuous point, while Yonnongah and his 
rival were assigned separate sides of the river. 

" Let Manitou speak ! " exclaimed the Priest ; and 
the sacred canoe, released from its moorings, floated 
steadily down the stream — inclining now to the right 
hand, now to the left. All eyes intently followed its 
course, hardly doubting that, by some charm or other, 
Tashmu would at last cause it to pass near Yonnongah. 
You will guess that none counted more confidently on 
such a result than that worthy himself. Still the bark 
floated regardlessly on, until it touched the magic rock, 
— hung poised there for a moment, then seemed to 
incline toward the Mohawk ; but, the inconstant current 
striking it obliquely, it swung slowly round, as upon a 
pivot, and passed down the stream, by the feet of Nes- 
sacus. 

"Wagh! the Great Spirit hath spoken, and it is 
good ! " exclaimed Miahcomo ; and the people, whose 
hearts the young chief had somehow gained, shouted 
" Ho ! It is good ! " 

The Priest and his accomplice gazed at each other 
in silent astonishment, that Heaven could possibly de- 
cide against arguments of such weight as they had 
used. The former, for a moment, began to suspect that 
a great God might possibly, in reality, rule in the affairs 
of men, — making him to bless whom he would have 
cursed. But the idea was too mighty for him, and he 
recurred, naturally, to a suspicion of treachery. I 
need not say, however, that he had his own reasons 
for not pressing an immediate investigation. I do not 
know that it ever occurred to him that Nessacus might 
have been a witness to his pious midnight labors. 



WAHCONAH. 227 



and, improving upon the hint, rendered them abor- 
tive. 

The assent of all parties was accordingly given to 
the proposed marriage ; and the time which intervened 
between the trial and a " lucky day," was to be filled 
up with feasting and revelry. The disappearance of 
Tashmu from the scene added to the hilarity of the 
occasion, and all was wild merriment. 

But alarming intelligence interrupted their festivities. 
The terrible Major Tallcott, with his soldiers, had pur- 
sued the brave Sachem of Quaboag across the moun- 
tains, and slain him, with more than two score of his 
best warriors, at Mahaiwe, on the banks of the Housa- 
tonic, not thirty miles from the settlement of Miahcomo. 
Even their temporary security was gone ; the mountain 
barrier was already passed. 

The fugitives from the battle at Mahaiwe came 
thronging in, but at last brought intelligence that the 
invaders had returned. A party of them brought, also, 
the missing Tashmu, whom they accused of having 
offered to lead the enemy to the refuge of Nessacus. 
The evidence of his guilt was complete, and the fate of 
the criminal was not delayed by any unnecessary judi- 
cial forms. 

Only a want of provisions had prevented Major Tall- 
cott from accepting the Wizard's kind offer, and he 
might now return, at any moment, to profit by it. The 
best haste was accordingly made in their migration, 
and before the November winds blew, Nessacus had 
led them to a home in the West, where they became a 
great tribe, and flourished for many generations, before 
they again heard the white man's rifle. 



228 TAGHCONIC. 



As for Wahconah, the story of her happiness comes 
down to us, through Indian traditions, faint and far, 
but sweet as the perfume which a western gale might 
bring from a far-off prairie. 



THE END. 



LBJL '08 



